


i've flown too close to the sun this time

by charnelhouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angry Din Djarin, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Jealousy, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Din Djarin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Episode: s01e01 The Mandalorian, Protective Din Djarin, Revenge, Rough Sex, Sex in Space, Touch-Starved Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charnelhouse/pseuds/charnelhouse
Summary: I thought Mandalorians didn't do revenge.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 96
Kudos: 341





	1. turning point

The rain on your lips tastes like blaster smoke - like platinum and metallic gas. You hate this planet - this industrial hell hole locked away on the Outer Rim. There is street food - tepid, sharp odors that make you dizzy. Barbecued creatures on hot grills. Bruised fruit the color of blood and viscera. Sour tuberous vegetables.

You lean against an alley wall - study the bright graffiti designs - old mockeries of the newly dead empire. Yellowed light flickers from the looming faces of lamp posts. Creatures with red eyes glare at you from shadowy heaps of garbage.

You’d rather be back on the Razor Crest. You’d rather not be here _period_.

You’re tired. Six bounties down within the span of a single week and your limbs have gone to jelly. There hasn’t been a full night’s sleep because you’re always too jittery after a hunt and Mando - _well_ \- Mando likes to get _his_ jitters out in other ways.

The place between your legs aches - thigh muscles twitching. The skin below your waist is chafed and sticky. There's a bite mark on your collarbone. Sleep for you _just_ isn't in the cards.

The door across the way is flanked by two enormous guards. From inside comes the pulsing sound of stomping feet - cheering and groaning and nonstop fucking noise. You touch the handle of your blaster - stroke its firm, metal skin.

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly - the spark of cold Beskar rubbing up against your shoulder. “I know it’s been a lot. You're tired. You can go back.”

His words unnerve you. Mando doesn’t really do gentle or show concern.

Concern for how wet you get - concern about whether you climax more than once when he’s inside you - but when it comes to doing your job - maiming and earning credits - he just trusts you to be good and ready. You’d broken a thousand different faces beneath your fist - stabbed and shot and _killed_ with a precision that had impressed Mando in the first place.

It’s why you work well together. It's why you work together at all.

“I’m fine,” you reply before you drop your voice to a teasing drawl. “But I thought Mandalorians didn’t do revenge.”

Mando has his _needs_ \- and his bounties - and someone had incidentally pissed him off, which is why they were on this shit planet and about to go into a gladiatorial pit with guns blazing. You have no idea who the unlucky guy is, but Mando had been adamant about showing up here and finishing something that he hadn’t even explained to you in full.

It doesn’t matter. It never does. You go where the credits are or where Mando wants you to go because _in truth_ you were never a leader to begin with - _just point me in a direction and I’ll destroy or violently injure who you want me to_.

“It’s not revenge,” he mutters - irritated. “There’s a bounty in there.”

“Sure, Mando." You can feel his gaze on your face - can feel it _burn_.

You’ve gotten disturbingly adept at sensing him - his shifts of mood, the weight of his stare - even deciphering his tone through the strong barrier of the modulator.

You don’t know what he looks like. You only know what you can feel - your hands palming his brow in the dark - the full plush of his lips between your legs - and the tickle of facial hair. He’s big and broad and tight with muscle and he knows exactly how to _fuck_ you.

The rest is extra if he chooses to give it.

His gloved hand lightly squeezes your hip with a deliberate innuendo: _after after after...i’ll give it to you after this job and you won’t be able to move for a week._

Maker - he’s a sex maniac and you blame it on years of him being confined to his helmet and his Beskar and his rigid code. You’re pretty certain you’re the first person he’s allowed to touch him in the pitch black with nothing between you. Maybe because you’re like him - maybe because you’re a lonely little orphan that had been bred into taking blood - maybe because you give excellent head.

You do know that he’s definitely fucked before - no one is that damn good on their first try and when you brought it up, he scoffed at the implication that he was a _virgin_.

_“There have been others,” he grunts - hot hands palming your bare thighs, rolling a nipple between calloused fingers, biting into your neck from behind._

_“Others?” you whine - prickled for some strange reason. “Did they have tentacles?”_

_He slaps your ass - grabbing a handful of flesh and jostling it until you arch. You kick out at his shin in sheer defiance. He likes a fight._

_“It wasn’t like this,” he growls - pressing his lips to the naked, sensitive skin of your shoulder. “It was always clothed. I didn't take the helmet-_

_“I bet I was the prettiest,” you interrupt - your fingers tangling with his and holding them flat to your stomach. You don’t know why you say it. Jealousy. Possessiveness. You’ve never had anyone for yourself and he isn’t yours - he’s not - but you like him in a way that stings._

_He makes a soft mouth sound - the great, stiff wall of his body freezing up as he spoons you. For a moment - you think you’ve fucked up. You’ve shown your hand - your cards in a flush._

_Mando can be cruel at times - his anger a very living, frantic thing that he has difficulty controlling. It’s not at you - never at you - but you’ve seen it. He has issues - a whole fucking ship full, but who doesn’t?_

_Most of the time, he's quiet and stoic - like a shifting shadow who barely gives you much of anything unless he’s here in the dark - curled around you, and the both of you are blanketed by the sweep of the night - under the vast weight of stars that burn through the observation shield. You don’t even remember how this started, but you do know that the Mandalorian does not do fluff - does not do sweet - or warm - or feelings point-blank._

_He still won’t say anything and his chest is very hot - his heart beating low and slow against your spine._

_Your mouth goes dry. “I didn’t - “_

_He clings to you - his tongue sweet against your jaw and when he speaks it’s like being splashed with cold, clear water. The ache in his voice real - unmodulated - sincere .“You’re the prettiest of any of them. Not even a competition.”_

_Oh_

He pinches your waist. “Get your head on straight.”

He brings you back to yourself. Domineering Mando - drenched in that unyielding grit that means he’s slipped his cover into murder-mode.

Well...it’s not murder? Not really. Is it? Whatever.

“Let’s go, pretty.”

* * *

If Mando’s helmet could read _sheepish_ \- it’s doing it right now.

You’re unnerved - stunned - and a little furious.

“That wasn’t a mark,” you gasp. There’s a bruise forming along your ribs - you definitely pulled a muscle running back to the ship. “That - _that_ \- what the fuck was that?”

Mando’s hands are up - fingers spread wide. There’s an arc of blood splatter across the front of his breastplate - even the face of his helmet. He starts to speak before rethinking it. Just mumbling - searching for a reason that will make any sense at all because _this_ is sort of fucked...kind of.

Finally - his shoulders fall - his hands, too - deflating all at once before breathing out, “He hurt you.”

To the point. Concise.

Something deflates inside you, as well. Your heart pumps - your belly pulling tight as you find yourself losing your footing. You collapse onto his thin cot - the springs grinding and sparking beneath your ass.

“Mando,” You peer up at him and he’s just _staring_ \- and you hate the weight of it. “Mando - it wasn’t a big deal. He...well yeah he kind of choked me out, but we got out of there.”

“Your throat was bruised for a week.”

“I get bruised all the time.”

He moves toward you - quick-footed and agile. He doesn’t touch you - but he does tower over you and when he speaks, his words are stiff - as if he may just choke on them. “You know he made it personal - the things he said - how he spoke to you as he - as he fucking tried to kill you in front of me. I couldn’t just let that go.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

It had been a mission on Maldo Kreis where they had tracked a bail jumper to one of the planet's isolated bars. They hadn’t realized that the mark would have a gang of allies - that he was wealthy and able to pay for security. On top of that, you hated the cold - it made your joints ache and your eyesight go blurry. Your ears ringing with pain from the howling wind. You were off your game and Mando had been in one of his _moods_ where he just didn’t speak - preferring to stalk behind you with all the air of an imposing mountain of steel.

Shit had gone bad right from the jump and you had ended up underneath said bail jumper while Mando was held down by six or so of his henchmen. His nails had bitten into the flesh beneath your jaw - his hold so constricting that you couldn’t get a breath in. You remember the way black dots danced across the bar’s frost-laden ceiling. Your blaster had been at your foot - your blades out of reach and the whole damn time you kept thinking about how fucking embarrassing it was that you were going to get your ass killed by a nobleman’s spoiled criminal son and then he started talking:

 _“She’s a pretty thing, Mandalorian....really fucking pretty...I think I’d enjoy her...”_ His lips - slippery and smelling of spice - slid up your cheek - his hips grinding against you and fuck this was literally mortifying and you almost wished for death because to have this happen in front of Mando of all people was just...not good. Your eyes had rolled back and there had been perfect blackness - warm and sweet and rocking you into...

_“I think my men would enjoy her too...we’ll let you watch...let the whole bar -_

The weight had vanished and you didn’t know what had happened after that. You came to with Mando carrying you back to the ship before you passed out again. The next time you woke up, Mando was brushing cream over your throat, and in the corner of your vision - you could see his fingers shaking.

You couldn’t speak for a few days afterward. Mando had kept to the cockpit - the silence killing you slowly until you had wandered up there and apologized for screwing up the mission so spectacularly and how you had been too distracted and how that normally doesn’t happen and _fuck I’m really sorry_ -

And he had whirled on you - charging forward - and you thought briefly that he was going to slam you into the sliding door of the cockpit but when he reached you his hands were gentle.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he had countered - earnest and authoritative - throat thick with something. “Now - go downstairs and chart the next course.”

And you had believed that was the end of it. He didn’t even seem terribly pissed off. Never mentioned it again.

Now - he’s staring down at you with that same guy’s blood drying on his armor.

“I thought you killed him then,” you remark - striving for casual. “Back at that bar. I just figured. All the blood.”

Mando drops down next to you. It’s strangely inelegant - the least graceful he’s ever been - as If all of his bones have just gone to gel. 

“I tried. I killed most of them. I couldn’t risk you getting hurt further so didn’t chase after him when he ran off.”

“Until now?”

“Yeah. Until now.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Couple months.”

You nod slowly. He reaches for your hand - the buttery leather curling around your fingers. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “If - if that wasn’t my place. I was just - just so fucking angry. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said - what he did.” He leans into you. "I wanted him fucking dead.”

You swallow sluggishly. You're shaky - your hand is trembling in his and you try to square your feet - try to anchor yourself down because it’s like he’s cut you open - left you raw and red and vulnerable.

“And then you had come to me _fucking_ apologizing like it had been your fault and _maker_ that just - _that_ -“

He breaks off - stammering - and it makes you feel restless - too big for your skin. This isn’t like him, _at all_.

“My safety isn’t your responsibility, Mando,” you reply - soft and uncertain. You have no idea how this happened - how this conversation has turned to _this_ and how distraught he’s acting because _yes_ they are fucking and they are partners to a certain extent but it’s not like he owed you anything. It was the nature of the job and he just went and risked his life to get revenge _for_ you. He didn't even take the body back for the credits. 

“I know that,” he shrugs. “I don’t care.”

"Oh," you reply. _What do you even say to that?_

He shifts next to you - the cot squeaking beneath him. "Are you okay?"

You bite down on your tongue - savoring the rush of pain before you get up the nerve to answer. 

“No one has ever done something like that for me,” you croak - something itches at the back of your throat. Pricks of sharp pain. “I just - I didn’t even think about it - what he said. I’ve been threatened countless times. My whole life has been kind of filled with shit like that. I don’t know I just - I just forgot about it - buried it I guess.”

He turns toward you and when he reaches for your face, you let him. He cradles your jaw - thumb brushing over your lips. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

The sentence sits heavy in the air - soothing you in a strange, delirious way just like it did when he told it to you on Maldo Kreis months ago. The only difference is that Mando sounds wrecked - _sad_. He drags you against him and it should be uncomfortable - sharp, solid, and freezing - but it isn’t - not at all. “That will never happen again. I-I promise you that it won’t. I swear.”

It sounds like he _means_ it - like he will use everything in his arsenal to protect you. His arm around you is heavy - notching you against him and your cheek is scraping across his shoulder and you can just make out the tanned skin of his throat - the dark, coarse hair along his jawline.

“You can’t promise me that.” You run your nail over the exposed patch of flesh between helmet and cape. He shudders. “Not in our line of work... _but_...I do appreciate the sentiment.”

There’s an awkward silence except for the dim buzz of the ship’s electrical panels, the creak of metal, along with the jarring vibrations as it slips through space.

Something had changed. Something significant and you weren’t sure how to define it or how things would go from here. You let him hold you - let his forearm dig into your ribs as you listen to him breathe slow and consistent. He smells like blood - the metallic tang of it swept up with sweat and sand and dust.

Mando makes a sudden, desperate sound in his throat and he tugs you closer to him. One hand travels between your legs - grabbing you crudely - making you jump - and _of course, of course_ \- this is how it will go. Both of you are too overwhelmed with the fact that you’ve shared something - that Mando has revealed that he _cares_ \- a lot. It’s going to be sex now - dirty, rough-fucking - to make up for the blush of those confessions.

Over the thin material of your pants, his thumb presses to your clit - pushes downward.

 _"_ Fuck," you whimper as you clutch his armored forearm.

“I want your cunt,” he snarls and it’s made even wicked due to the cool tang of his modulator. Here - _right now_ \- he’s building those walls back up and that’s _okay_ because you really don’t know how to handle any of this and emotions are really fucking dumb.

You wind your arms around his neck and let him shift you into his lap.

“Take it then,” you challenge, which makes him squeeze you harder.

He’s already undoing your pants - hooking his fingers through the opening and then _inside_ you - one then two then a third - scissoring and stretching and the wet noises your pussy makes would be obscenely embarrassing but Mando is growling into your hair about how _fucking gorgeous you are_ and _how fucking soaked you get_ and _how hard you make him all the damn time_ and when he pulls his fingers away he raises his helmet - just _barely_ \- so you can see a blur of pink and brown before he’s sucking your gloss into his mouth and humming with loud satisfaction.

“Gonna fuck you,” he husks as he pulls you up off the bed to help with the rest of your clothes.

And something drops in your belly - something unstable claws its way into your chest and you find yourself reaching for him like some needy, love-struck teenager and not thinking at all before you ask, “Can we have the lights off? I - I want to kiss you during it.”

He pauses. You can practically feel the sharp way he’s looking at you - the tight line that would be his lips pressed together with uncertainty. He’s never denied you kissing - the two of you can and _have_ made out for hours when the room is pitch black and you have the time to spare.

But - asking for it - _now_ \- after what he just did for you? It’s new territory and kind of pathetic on your end. Kissing is _intimate_ \- it’s the closest you can really get to him and the secret that is his face. You’re pretty sure he had just wanted to shove his dick inside you and make you come on it - maybe from behind - maybe with your knees crushed into the floor.

He doesn't refuse you though. _Surprising_.

He palms your cheek - rubbing his slick fingers over your bottom lip. The taste of salt - of you and his own spit. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can do that.”

* * *

He kisses you for a long damn time. It feels closer in the dark - the smell of him like something musky and sweet. He nudges his nose against yours - whispers words of praise - tracing your lips with his tongue before slipping it inside to rub and stroke and savor.

It’s more than sex. It’s way more and _how did this happen_?

You think of how he looked when he was hacking his way through the gladiatorial pit - how he had killed that piece of shit with the stroke of a knife. Not a blaster - a fucking knife because he _wanted_ to feel it and right before he slashed - he had twisted the guy’s head to look at you and whispered something unintelligible and then a spray of blood.

It had been _gorgeous_. 

You reach for him - hand wrapping around his thick cock that juts up against his stomach. It’s silkier than the rest of him - veined and familiar as your thumb grazes up over the head. You stroke him - feel it lurch and swell in the circle of your palm as his hips rut against the side of your thigh. Your other hand threads through the curling hair at the nape of his neck and when you squeeze - he shivers - a hiss punched out from the bottom of his lungs.

“You ready for me?” he mutters as he kisses your chin - your jaw - the curve of your breast. His fingers part your sex - spread it open and rub the bare, pink flesh where your nerves sit raw like an exposed wire. He continues until you’re shaking with it - until the hull echoes with the slick, liquid sounds of his hand playing your cunt like he's made for it.

“Obviously,” you whine as he dips a finger inside just to _tease_.

“You’re a brat,” he accuses - gruff, but still amused. “Such a fucking desperate thing for me. Pretty and soft and so _damn_ wet.”

You moan - breasts crushed up into the powerful, muscular planes of his chest - the ridges of his abdomen. He’s built to kill - to fight and _win_ and he still can take you apart with a talent that is simply _not fair_. He’s deliberate in his fucking - focused and aggressive - as if he were taking down a bounty.

He moves between your legs - pulling a nipple between his teeth as you feel him line himself up. Your mouth falls open when he pushes inside you - the blunt head of his cock catching at your entrance. He bumps his forehead against yours - his nose near-buried into the plump of your cheek. It _hurts_ \- not terribly - but it aches like he’s splitting you in two as your body works to accommodate him.

“That’s a good girl,” he sighs when you clamp down on him - when you wind your legs around his hips, allowing him to start to thrust slow and steady. “Can you? Can you hold onto me?”

There are things he likes - things he needs because he’s so huge - so much steel and secret grief interlaced between his bones. He likes when you’re rough with him - when you touch him like you’re dying.

You dig your nails into his shoulder and press down hard enough to make him groan. You feel the way his muscles roll and clench beneath your hands - each cant of his hips sending you scraping up the thin, shitty mattress. There’s something stabbing into your spine, but you can’t care - don’t care - not when he’s buried in you to the hilt and grinding up against your clit in a way that sends pleasure skyrocketing through your nerve endings.

He takes your wrists - flipping his grip to push them into the pillow above your head. He keeps fucking you with purpose - drawing himself out to the tip before sliding every inch back inside you. It’s a delicious pace - a dance of sorts - and every fucking movement is to give you a spark - to make you _burn_ quick and hot like a matchstick and when he bends you nearly in half - forcing your legs into your chest - you convulse - bear down on him with the onslaught of your climax.

He keeps going - his knees anchored to the mattress as he finds different angles to ruin you. He rambles into your ear - _you’re so tight - you’re sweet, little cunt feels so good_ \- _i fucking can’t, I can’t handle it_ \- _you’re the only thing I think about_ -and your eyes fly open, your arms wrapped around his back as you let him continue crooning in your ear.

 _You’re the only thing I think about_.

It makes your gut twist - your walls constrict around him and your skin is so hot under his - damp and uncomfortable and _too much_ \- but he’s all around you and holding you down and spearing you on his cock and rasping against you as deep as he can go and he just told you that you’re all he thinks about and you come again - brilliantly, a flood of pink light bursting across your vision and it’s almost like when you nearly died - like when you couldn’t get a breath in and that cantina's frozen ceiling turned speckled with black dots like dust motes.

A little death - just the same.

You drag him closer to you - cross your heels over his ass - red sparks still flooding your field of vision. You clench around him - tightening in a vice and he chokes into your ear - his hips slapping against yours before the rhythm turns sloppy and his whole body shudders as he tries to hold himself up on his forearms. You stroke his face - carding your fingers through his sweat-drenched hair and he turns quickly to press his lips to your palm - to kiss you sweetly while he’s balls deep inside your cunt as his thrusts become short, frantic bursts.

“C’mon, baby,” you soothe. “Come for me. I want you, too.”

“Fuck,” He grips your hip - bruising and rough.

“Please,” you beg - sob wrapped up into the whine. “Please.”

He comes like that. He grunts into your shoulder and his body goes stiff. You spread your legs wide around him so he can shove himself as far as possible - his cock spitting hot, thick streams of his spend. You can _feel_ it and you know when you stand that it’ll slide down your thighs - over the hump of your knee and Mando will _watch_ \- will try and press it back up into you because he’s just that kind of _filthy_ when he wants to be.

He collapses next to you - automatically hauling your body against him so he can tuck you under his arm. He presses his face to your cheek and in the stillness - in the quiet after the proverbial fuck storm - you try to decipher his features - the sharp jut of his nose, the full lips, the flutter of long lashes.

He’s probably stupidly good-looking just like he’s stupidly perfect at sex.

You might be too though because he’s still coming down from it.

He’s panting - spreading a trembling hand across your belly. His tongue sounds thick in his mouth and his skin is coated in sweat. Absolutely c _oated_. Your pussy hurts - like _a lot_ \- and you’ll probably tell him later just so he can be smug about it. He’s not used to compliments - even the indecent ones.

He slots his leg between your calves - fully wrapping himself around you so you can barely move.

‘I can’t get up,” you huff - pinching his forearm - tugging at the dark hair.

He brushes his lips over your shoulder. “Good.”

“But what if I need to.”

“You don’t need to.”

You sigh - fidgeting and wiggling before he reinforces his grip. “Let’s just lie here for a little bit.”

_You’re the only thing I think about._

Your lip quirks. You bite down on it. “Okay,” you reply as he pulls you closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://charnelhouse.tumblr.com/


	2. you could be my unintended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You play fast and loose with jealousy. Mando tries to convince you of things. (Set during the episode The Prisoner).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found The Prisoner episode so fascinating because we got a peek at Mando before the show. There seem to be so many dark elements in Din's story (and I want them BADLY). I know the absolute bare minimum about star wars or how space ships work and am relying entirely on google to guide me through this porn narrative. This hasn't been beta'd and my eyes crossed the third time I looked over it so major apologies if anything looks strange.

_Safe_

That’s how you feel right now – _safe_.

It had been evading you – the word for the steadiness in your spirit – the smooth, settled foundation anchoring you in place. Usually – there was always that niggling wrench of despair in your lungs – a wavering anxiety that latched itself to your spine and set your nerves on constant flight.

You were used to the _unknown_. You were used to bad feelings – broken thoughts – disparaging emotions that structured your entire being – your sense of self. You never knew when your next meal would be – your next _rest_ – death a constant, ugly promise at the nape of your neck as you tried to just _live_ by fighting day in and day out.

Now – you have…a strange sort of domesticity? You have _familiar_.

You stare at Mando who is piloting them to the next mission – hyperspace spilling its color over the glistening surface of his armor. He’s _beautiful_.

Even without knowing his face – he’s fucking gorgeous – and he cares for you in some strange, inexplicable way. A coo startles you and your eyes drop down to rest on their latest addition – the child. He’s playing with the silver ball from Mando’s control panel – admiring it as he passes it between his tiny hands.

They were kind of a family – strapped together by thin string and constant violence – but a family, nonetheless. Even your sex life with Mando had become – domesticated to a degree. The two of you could only fuck when the baby was asleep – no more quickies post-mission on the floor of the hull – no more blow jobs in the driver’s seat of the cockpit.

Okay, you kind of still did those things, but you were very _very_ careful – always listening for a quiet gurgle or croon from the baby’s bed.

Sometimes Mando would be going to town on you and then the baby would be pulling his pudgy little body up onto their cot – waddling between them because he wanted their warmth – or attention – or _anything_. They both allowed it because _of course_ – he was just too damn adorable, and you instinctively understood that he had known nothing of kindness or safety. If you thought about what he’d been subjected to in his fifty years of life – you’d start crying because you were now – incidentally – a very sensitive, hormonal human (who still had a career in bounty hunting).

Sex and multiple orgasms be _damned_.

For the last month, they’d done mundane things like errands: stocking up on caf, food, bacta patches, and ammunition. You even bought the child a pair of fabric dolls – something plush for him to nuzzle in his crib. They were still sitting unused somewhere beneath his blankets – the silver ball taking all of his attention.

In what you presume was his version of a date, Mando had even brought you to a bar – _The Blue Wall_ in Canto Bight. The drinks had been overpriced, the music unbearably loud, and Mando had remained on edge as soon as he sat down – _but_ it had been nice. _Fun_. It had felt like a sweet moment between the two of you – a moment without talk of credits, course charting, or strategy. Just warm hands touching beneath the table and Mando listening attentively while you argued the pros and cons of the EE-3 blaster over the E-11.

It was _wonderful_ up until you got smashed on too many Barium Frizzes and started a bar fight with a Rodian. With astonishing ease, Mando had lifted you over his shoulder and carted you back to the Razor Crest. When he got to the outskirts of the city and out of earshot, he had allowed himself to start laughing (publicly appearing happy was bad for his street cred).

He balanced you over his shoulder and those deep, modulated chuckles vibrated into your belly - still managing to touch you where it counted.

“We gotta work on your people skills,” he grunted – smacking your ass hard enough to make you buck. You punched him on the back, bruising your knuckles (possibly shattering them) due the whole Beskar situation you had forgotten about.

“That’s rich coming from _you_ ,” you whined – going weightless – hanging limp as he gracefully maneuvered through the dry, achingly warm desert of Cantonica.

“I have people skills,” he replied - indignant. “I’m excellent at bartering.”

“Big deal.”

“I’m great at threatening people,” he offered – his hand squeezed your thigh – thumb running up the seam of your crotch making you shudder. “Pretty good at eating you out, too.”

_Shit._

“Fine,” you snapped before he bounced you again - his pauldron stabbing into your gut. Your stomach turned – that cloying, sour taste in the back of your throat. _Oh no_.

“Leave me here to perish,” you mumbled as you tried to keep your face from smashing into his perfect ass. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He stopped immediately – carefully setting you down on the balmy, white sand. You swayed – shoving the back of your hand against your mouth to keep back whatever was threatening to come up. He circled his arms around you – and instead of pushing you away – he brought you closer to him - gripping your head and gently forcing it down against his chest.

“Focus,” he soothed. “I got you.”

You stayed that way for minutes – nothing, but the muted howl of the desert wind, the relaxed motion of his breathing, and the faint buzz from the many casinos in Canto Bight. Mando disentangled himself from you – threading his fingers through yours before pointing to the sky. “Look at that.”

It was two of Cantonica’s moons – pale orange and burnt sienna – full and shockingly vibrant against the violet sky.

“Oh,” you gasped. “Wow.”

And it was lovely – deliriously so – and when you swiveled your head – you found Mando staring at you – dual moons beaming off his reflective helmet – holding your gaze with such an intensity that the planet could devour you both and you wouldn’t care. It was all terribly romantic – a gorgeous memory that you’d probably savor for the rest of your life.

And then your knees gave out and you puked fizz all over the baking, smooth sand.

He had held your hair back though.

* * *

Yes – the last few months had been calm – _pure_ and _dependable._ They had been lazily moving through life – laying low with the kid and content with mundane conversation. Even set dinner times.

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperdrive soon,” Mando announces – flipping a switch on the control panel. He glances at you beside him - before he does a double-take.

“What?” There is a warm pressure on your chest and when you peer down - the baby is sinking his tiny, wrinkled face into the curve of your breast - his little fingers clutching you tightly. _Oh, fuck me that’s cute._

“Sorry,” Mando says - the grin obvious in his voice. “I just - I really wish that was me.”

“Perv,” you snap before cuddling the baby closer to you as he gurgles.

“You sure you want to go with me on this? They’re not the best crowd - I’d honestly feel better if you stayed here.”

“Nice try,” you reply - firmly. “Where you go, I go.”

He remains silent - but you catch the way his hand tightens on the controllers. You don’t know why he’s been so nervous about this mission. He’s keeping things close to the vest – and that’s fine because you never press Mando for anything – not his past, not his feelings, nothing that he doesn’t want to give you freely and strings are overrated.

You bounce the child in your arms. “I also haven’t done anything violent in quite a while,” you coo into his floppy ears. “I’m getting itchy.”

The child giggles – pulling at a strand of your hair and shoving it into his mouth to suck on. _Adorable_.

* * *

The vast hangar is a cluttered mess - dirty metal and blinking red and blue lights. There are various figures scattered about – droids, humans, twi’leks, and iktochi. They’re disassembling a hijacked Republic Cruiser – packing and unpacking stolen electrical parts and cargo.

_Nice._

“Go do business,” you tell Mando. “I’ll wait here.”

He nods before disappearing between the mountainous piles of cargo.

You stroll to the edge hangar to stare out at the expanse of the galaxy. It’s so black – nearly blue. Velvet. The blanket of glittering stars and all the widespread _empty_. This place is isolated – a floating island in the middle of nothing. You peer over the edge – stare at more, endless satin space. You wonder what it would be like to drop – to drown in all that _nothing_ – to feel the rush-bright of those distant stars as you fade into the silky clutch of the galaxy.

You take a step back. _Weird._ You hadn’t had thoughts like that in a long time. There had been a few brooding instances since you joined with Mando – more when you had left him for a few months because of all your troubling intimacy issues. Now – he went out of his way to make you feel safe – to make you _understand_ that you were secure beside him. There was also the baby, who had awoken something freakishly maternal in your body. It wasn’t like you were suicidal – you just had a history of feeling forlorn – confused and unsettled – like your skin didn’t fit right and your brain was too convoluted – full of knots. You just hadn’t known happiness at all – period – and _this -_ what you cherish on the _Razor_ Crest - is happiness. You’re certain.

But did you deserve it? After all you had done?

The biggest parts of you – the parts crafted during your childhood by the abuse that had been your teaching – all scream a resounding _no_.

You hear your name from afar. _Mando_. You go to him – wading through the various figures – half of them you think you’ve seen on a bounty puck.

“This is Ran,” Mando says as a pudgy, frazzle-haired man shakes your hand.

“Pleasure,” Ran grips tightly before his eye drift back to Mando. “How’d you land someone like her?”

Mando ignores him, instead crossing his arms over his chest, emphasizing _just_ how broad he is. “You needed my help?”

“All I need is the ride,” he grins. “And you brought it.”

“No,” Mando grinds out. “That wasn’t part of it.”

“The crest is the only reason I let you back in here.”

Mando looks pissed - whole body rigid as a taut wire as he stares Ran down. You step aside – allowing them to bicker with each other in hurried, flat voices. Mando finally sighs – seemingly losing the argument and you both move forward so Ran can introduce you to another guy – Mayfield.

You lean against Mando – fingers barely brushing his wrist. “He looks _sketchy_.”

“We’re all sketchy, pretty,” he whispers. His tone lacks some of the previous frustration – as if your touch has allowed him to relax.

“Yeah, but at least you and I are attractive.”

He exhales sharply – his thumb embedded into your lower back – right above the swell of your ass. “Be good.”

“And if I’m not?”

“I’ll destroy that perfect cunt of yours.”

“You need to work on your bartering skills, Mandalorian.” You brush your hair over your shoulder, smiling innocently. “Because that literally just convinced me to be _not good.”_

_Because that very specific threat will sustain me through the rest of this job._

“Hey Mando,” Ran calls. “Stop fucking around with that little number. We have details we need to hash out.”

_Dick._

You can feel Mando stiffen. He’s protective to a fault – even when it comes to your name – your person. He straight up does not like _anyone_ speaking to you in a way that isn’t overly courteous. It’s _sweet_.

“Go,” you urge – ignoring Ran’s comment. You move over to a table cluttered with weapons and electrical parts. “You know I hate the details.”

As you inspect the rusted pieces of an E-11 blaster, you hear Ran chuckling. “We did some crazy stuff didn’t we?”

“That was a long time ago.” You peer sideways at Mando, catching the weight of _something_ in his tone. To anyone else, the modulation makes his inflection flat – unflinchingly cool.

You know better. He didn’t like being reminded of that. Whatever history hung sour between him and Ran - it _bothered_ him.

You turn back to the table– jostling the different parts to look busy. You didn’t like this crew – didn’t like the suspicious way they watched both of you and Mando. Something is pulling low in your belly – making you tense and on edge.

Mando finally beckons you over.

“Mayfield is running point,” Ran informs you. “One of the best triggermen I’ve ever seen. Former Imperial Sharpshooter.”

“That’s not saying much,” Mando remarks dryly and you laugh despite yourself.

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper, wise-ass,” Mayfield barks.

_Touchy._

Mando subtly situates himself behind you – his beskar smooth against your back. He quickly squeezes your hip – a reminder - _I’m here._ You wonder if you look nervous – fidgety.

There are more introductions – a red humanoid named Burg and some insect-looking droid named Zero. It’s all business interspersed with some jabs thrown at the Mandalorian – who takes them with ice-cold disregard. You _want_ to defend him – it sits on the tip of your tongue – burns hot in the clench of your fingers. He does it for you – all the time and in so many various ways.

He probably doesn’t want you, too.

“Hello, Mando.” A sultry voice slips out from behind them followed by a lavender-colored twi’lek,

Mando falters. “Xi’an,” he mutters – surprised.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?” And then she’s striking out at him – a blade glittering in her fingers as she holds it to his throat. He doesn’t move – doesn’t flinch.

Your hand is on your blaster – the other hand wrapped tightly around the knife in your belt.

“Nice to see you, too,” Mando replies and you release your weapons.

“I missed you,” she whines, and your hand immediately returns to your weapon.

_Who the fuck is this?_

“Do we need to leave the room or something?” Mayfield implores before Ran steps forward. “Well, Xi’an’s been a little heartbroken since Mando left our group.”

_What the fucking fuck?_

You do nothing – you are cool, calm and collected. You’re a highly trained bounty hunter who has taken out large groups of very enormous men without a scratch. This is _nothing_. This purple fucking -

“You gonna be okay, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I’m all business now,” Xi’an points her dagger at Mando. “Learned from the best.”

You feel something pop in your skull – your jaw clicks – something heavy sinks inside your stomach and you think… _oh is this what it’s like?_ Jealousy – pungent and sickening expands through your chest.

Mayfield laughs. “Is he all business, though?” He turns to you – winking. “He did bring his girlfriend along.”

Xi’an twists around, her eyes settling on you. She really is like a serpent – smooth, agile, venomous. You’d like to stab her with something pointy.

“Hi,” you croon – squinting your eyes as if speaking to a very dumb animal. _I’m going to pull your spine out of your mouth and then eat the marrow._

Mando steps in front of you. “She’s not here for me,” he replies evenly. “She’s a bounty hunter – just as good as me if not better.”

_Liar._

“A lot prettier, too,” Mayfield smirks. “I don’t know why she’s wasting her time with you.” _Ew._

And Mando’s words make your insides swell up – your grin widening further before you can stop yourself. Recognizing that he hadn’t denied that you were his girlfriend, while also stating that you were talented and worth having around when things get sticky. _Stars -you were greedy for him._

Xi’an walks toward you – assessing you with her wild, black eyes, tongue running along the red slash of her mouth. You think of serpent scales – of slit skin and powder. There’s too much white in her eyes – too much white around those black holes of _nothing_.

You think of the edge of the hangar – you think of tossing her off and letting her drown in all that cold, perfect galaxy.

“Mando,” Xi’an purrs. “You finally found a pet.”

You step forward before he can – already sensing his anger. It would be so fucking cool if you hit her – if you socked her straight in the face. _But_ – they don’t have time to mess around – and the sooner you finish this job, the sooner Mando can fuck you. Plus – Xi’an is trying desperately to get under your skin, and you’ve _learned from the best_ as it was – silent, indifference gets you farther.

“Are you done?” you ask. “I thought we had work to do.”

She smirks – sharp teeth sparking beneath the hot lights of the hangar, and you return it with your best smile – the most galaxy-shattering grin you can manage because two can play at that game.

* * *

Mando drags you to the corner of the ship – the great shape of him blocking you from prying eyes.

“What is it?” You press your palms to his chest – stroking him for no one to see.

“Didn’t – uh didn’t know she’d be on this.” He’s _nervous_. “I’m sorry – none of this was how –

“Shut up,” you murmur – catching your fingers on the place where his soft cape is latched to his shoulders. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, but – okay yeah.”

He’s terribly awkward – endearing in the way he’s trying to reassure you.

“Look – I said I’d be good and I’m just following orders,” His breath hitches – crowding you farther against the wall. “I can be bad though…if you want? It’ll start with me hurting someone purple.”

He touches you – his gloved hand shoved right up against your cunt. He traces a thick finger at the apex – at the very blunt, throbbing piece of you that’s desperate for him. The others are still getting organized – still making their way onto the ship. You blink up at him – heart pulsing – core clenching down on _nothing_.

“I promise that I’ll ruin you if you’re good, too,” He pushes his thumb forward – as deep as he can get it over the fabric of your pants, making your knees go to jelly. It sparks your blood – makes you bite down on a pathetic whimper.

“Maybe – you can put it in real quick – just for a second,” you implore.

”Stop teasing. You’re gonna make me lose my head before this even starts.”

”But I want you.” 

He growls before he forces his thigh between your legs - clutching at you with frantic hands. You hear him mutter something _filthy -_ making your heart practically pound in the center of your cunt and you’re ready to just let him fuck you - to lift you up against the wall and ram his thick cock inside you and you really _really_ think he just might with how he’s breathing and touching and shuddering around you -

He freezes.

He curses and yanks his hand away, whirling around just as Mayfield steps through the hatch.

“Am I interrupting?”

You close your eyes – controlling the tremor in your thigh – your groin. _Fuck_.

Mando squares his shoulders – his voice perfectly steady. “Sit down and don’t touch anything, Mayfield.”

It always astonishes you how easily Mando switches between personas. Out in the world – he’s detached – bitterly cold and unreachable. With you and the child – in the safe confines of his ship – he’s playful, he _teases_ …he’s flirtatious and sarcastic and _dirty_.

Only in the ship does he allow you to see what you do to him – how he trembles when you press your lips to his jaw – when you run your fingers over the seam of his trousers and squeeze his thigh.

Only in their _home_.

* * *

After monitoring Zero, his creepily huge eyes and sparking claws at the controls, you descend back down into the cargo hold – catching the last of the conversation.

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III.”

“I did what I had, too,” Mando replies and you pause.

It’s like before – the detachment brushed with _something_. Feelings that are hidden and buried deep. You understand, of course. You’ve done plenty of things that eat away at your conscience. Sometimes they’ll reappear to hold your mind hostage – to make you feel _guilt_ and _sorrow_ and then ultimately force you to shove those violent images back into the black holes that decorate the template of your memory – just so you can forget _again_. Trauma in all of its cyclical glory.

You wonder what he did. You _wonder_ , but you’ll never ask. Mando is someone who needs to be treated with a careful hand – with caution and sincerity. He gives you what he wants to give you.

There’s a strange, tense moment where Mando watches you as you drop to the floor. Xi’an cuts through the fog.

“Oh, but you liked it, Mando,” she taunts. “I know who you really are.”

You know all about that, too. You recall killing in vivid detail – the sweetness in the adrenaline, the predatory slip of your skin. Blood on your hands – your face. The thrill in it.

You realize Mando is still quietly observing you – his posture rigid and on guard. _Oh_ – you think – _oh he’s scared of your reaction_. You stare back at him – attempt to hold what you mean in your expression. You go soft – go pliant – lips twitching.

 _I know all about death – about power and what it’s like to take it_.

_Who am I to judge? You know me._

He relaxes.

The conversation just continues – the ruthless attempts at jabs and how to get under Mando’s skin. It’s more _annoying_ than anything else. Are they literal children? Do they have any hobbies? Could you pay them to shut the fuck up for a solid minute?

You feel hot – your temper beginning to flare up. Your cheeks burn and while Mando may have his anger issues – so do _you_. Blame it on years of being slowly destroyed to become the perfect weapon. They _wanted_ you to funnel your rage into your fight. You were praised for your chaos.

You bite the inside of your cheek – think of something – _think of something_ – think of the child and his little paws – his sweet, glittering black eyes and those damn floppy ears. You exhale.

Mayfield is on a roll. “He never took his helmet off with you?” he shoots at Xi’an.

She arches an eyebrow before her gaze falls directly on you. “A lady never tells.”

_Good thoughts. Good thoughts. Good thoughts._

Mayfield turns his attention to you.

“I bet you’ve seen it,” he crows. “You two on this ship alone together? I bet he’s shown it to you.”

You tilt your head – hoping that your expression reads _I would like to decapitate you_.

“Keeping it close to the vest,” he acknowledges. “I get it. But – Mando – c’mon you should show us what’s under that helmet.”

“Yeah – you owe us.”

Burg is moving towards him – hands outstretched, and you really don’t know what you’re doing until one of your knives is embedded to the hilt in the thick meat of his arm. You frown – did you just blackout? _Oops._

Your fingertips are itchy with blood. You feel shaky – the fog of your fury beginning to clear. _They were threatening him – trying to take away the one thing that was central to his religion – his identity – the lore of his existence._

Mando is already in front of you – pushing you back against the hull as Burg rounds on you. You want to kick yourself – did you just _fuck_ this? Was this ending in a shootout?

 _They were threatening him_.

_That’s unforgivable._

Burg stares down at his arm – the sluggish drip of his blue blood – and then – _and then_ – he fucking starts laughing. He yanks the dagger out and tosses it back to you. Mando – _of course_ – catching it out of fear that Burg was purposefully trying to knick you.

“You must be strong,” he observes. “My flesh does not give easily.”

Mayfield hoots in laughter. “Damn, Mando, is she this fun in bed?”

_Oh no._

Mando’s fist crashes into Mayfield’s face – sending him flying into the wall – knocking open the sliding hatch to the baby’s room.

It’s a blur after that – you nearly lose your head when Mayfield – nose wet with blood – picks up the curious child and threatens to drop him.

“Give him to me,” you growl and Mayfield tucks him under his arm – prodding at one of his ears. “Mayfield – if you –“

The gravity changes violently as the ship breaks out of hyperspace. The entire cargo bay shakes – the floor shifting beneath your feet as you hold onto the wall for support. Mayfield curses before the baby falls out of his hands and bounces on the floor like a green ball of flesh.

You charge forward – snatching him up and holding him tightly against your chest. “Wow,” you hiss at the ex-sharpshooter. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

You brush your knuckles over the child’s skull – searching for injury. He whimpers – and you rock him in your arms. Mando places a palm on his face. “Is he okay?”

“Think so.”

Mayfield watches you both fuss over the kid before his eyes widen – eyebrows escaping his forehead.

“Wait,” he yells. “Wait! Did you _two_ make that?”

“Yeah,” you reply - dripping sarcasm. “He’s ours. I gave birth to him and everything so fuck off.”

“Damn, now I really have to know what Mando looks like.”

You roll your eyes – cradling the child while telepathically trying to tell him: “ _I wouldn’t be mad if you say - accidentally force choked these four psychos”._

The child grumbles - eyes narrowing suspiciously toward the others.

_Precious babe._

* * *

The New Republic Correctional transport is nothing but white and shades of grey. The lights are fluorescent – illuminating everything with a sanative glow. It’s a maze of doors – of bleak hallways and smooth, marbled floors.

It smells like disinfectant – the clean precision and order of a ship run entirely by droids.

“Zero disabled the ship’s surveillance system.”

_This should be easy._

Four security droids round the corner with blasters raised.

_Well fuck._

* * *

Perhaps – you should have called it as soon as you met these rats. Now there was a poor dead guy and the others had betrayed them (fucking duh) and you were pretty sure that Xi’an had a thing with her brother so double points for you being the better match for Mando.

“This fucking droid needs to get closer,” he snarls as he looks through the tiny window of their prison.

Mando is in his _really terrifying_ mode. He’s so pissed that you can _hear_ it in the way he’s breathing. You let him be – knowing that he needs to think – needs to focus since he’s at his most dangerous when he drowns out all the rest.

After those fucks had thrust you in here – he had gripped your arms – frantically searching for even a hair out of place. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Good. The kid, Mando.”

He cupped your face – running his palms over your cheeks – your hair – as if to convince himself that you were fine. “I know,” he replied. “I know. We’ll get out.”

You genuinely hated them – these criminals - ravagers.

Mercenaries.

 _Well_ – technically you were one, too.

You stretch your fingers – relishing the crack of your joints as you start to shut your mind off. If they wanted to fuck with you and Mando, then they’d learn exactly who they fucked with. You claw your way into that primal part inside you – that robotic kind of headspace that had allowed you to kill and injure without thought or sympathy for years. You hook your nails into the very heart of it – trap the rest of yourself in a box that you can hide under the proverbial bed. _Those_ are the pieces of you that belong with Mando…with the baby. The genuine, sweet flush of being _good_. You couldn’t use that right now.

Mando manages to trap a droid with his grappling cable – disabling it and ripping off one of its arms to unlock the cell door.

Your mouth goes dry. “That was…really attractive.”

He pointedly ignores you, but you bet he’s smiling. You wonder if you’ll ever see his face – if you’ll ever get to see his lips break out into a disarming grin. You can only feel it – only _touch_ and _savor_ the shape of it in the dark.

He reaches down, hauling you up against him. “Let’s go.”

You push your hair back – flip out two of your knives. You turn to him – that predator part of you now running hot – running fast and loose. “I feel like _hunting_ ,” you divulge – mouth brushing over the edge of his helmet.

He twitches minutely. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he husks. “Not when I can’t fuck you right now.”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “Then let’s finish this so _you_ can.”

He shoves his helmet against your forehead – unyielding grip on your shoulders as he keeps you in place. “Be careful.”

It’s a moment – brief and resolute – and then he pulls himself away and races back toward the control room.

You’re _pissed_. More than pissed. You’re going to pull their limbs from their bodies and wrap them around their throats like cute bowties.

The white lights flash red.

* * *

It’s like the halls are bathed in blood – the black circular doors grinding to a close – locking everyone inside.

_Now – it’s a game._

You stalk down the corridor – quiet, quick, _ready_. You've trained for this – to slip through shadows – make doorways where there aren’t any – escape like a ghost when the heat overwhelms. You’re built to disappear – to leave cold marks and dead bodies.

You listen – catching the light, sure steps of _someone_.

 _“Mando,”_ A feminine voice singsongs.

You grin.

* * *

It’s not easy – which you’ll admit to anyone else on pain of death. Xi’an is good, but you’re better. Her style is too out there – relying on mad, swift strikes as opposed to defensive blocking – parrying as you avoid every slash of her dagger.

“You know,” she declares as she lands a kick to your sternum. “He’s not someone you can keep forever – no matter how talented you may be,” She tries to bite into your shoulder, and you elbow her in the ribs. “No – no you won’t be able to keep him – never possess him - not to your bed – not to you.” You sigh - swiping your leg to the hard left – knocking her off her feet. “He’s a Mandalorian –he only cares for his code and when his code interferes with you – _which it will_ \- you know exactly what he will pick.”

“Do you feel better?” you growl. “Did you get it all out?”

She throws another dagger hidden in her belt – you smack it out of the way – sending it skittering across the floor. _How the fuck does she have so many of_ those? You stalk towards her – sweat is dampening your spine – the hem of your pants. You’re fucking _done._

She sends another flying. You manage to partially block it– but the blade scrapes a line of fire along your forearm. _Great_.

You crash into her – forcing her down to the ground so you can straddle her. Her body bucks up beneath yours, wiggling like trapped fish. You punch her square in the face.

“You’re really fucking annoying,” you grunt before hitting her again. And again.

There’s blood on your knuckles – pulled skin. She’s stunned - staring up at you with a bruised eye – the left side of her face swelling.

“What?” you ask gently – nails almost tender as you run them along her split lip. “Speechless?”

* * *

When you reach the cockpit, you collapse into the chair behind Mando – scrubbing a hand over your face. “That was…that was kind of fucked.”

Mando doesn’t respond.

He looks threatening – the flooding stream of hyperspace shimmering over his armor. Feathers of color – brilliant pinks and blues and golds washing across the silver mirror of his surface. Time and space and stars swirling and spiraling and taking them far and away from _whatever the fuck that_ was.

Your forearm aches from Xi’an’s dagger. Your muscles are tight – your skin chilled from all the sweat. You could sleep for a week except you’re past exhaustion and firmly in a state of collective anxiousness.

“Are you okay?” you ask carefully. He’s near impossible to read right now – shutting you off at every opening.

“How’s the kid?” he rasps – as if he’s dragging his tongue over stone – over coarse dirt – as if he’s just awoken from a long sleep.

“His crib,” you reply. “He’s out cold.”

“Good.”

More silence – more tension – thick and cloying and fucking awkward. _Maker._ How do you even – what are you supposed to do here?

Might as well just go for it.

“So…Xi’an?”

He shifts – his armor creaking as his right leather glove tightens over the power gear. “That was nothing,” he says quietly. “A long time ago.”

“She seemed to know you pretty well.”

“She _claimed_ that she did,” he corrects you. “She didn’t.”

You fiddle with the zipper of your vest – pulling it down and up – _down and up_ – _down down down_ –

“Hey,” Your head shoots up to find Mando staring at you from his chair. The helmet giving you _nothing._ “What – what are you thinking about?”

“How incredibly fun that all was.”

He manages to look doubtful.

“I’m – I’m gonna go to bed,” you announce. You suddenly don’t want to talk – now feeling like an idiot for even bringing her up. You’re giving too much of yourself – far too much and that’s a dangerous play to make.

You’re about to escape through the hatch before - “Stop.”

He stands up from his chair and moves toward you. He always looks huge in the cockpit – the mass of him – the broad shoulders and sheer domineering presence. Hyperspace gilds him in pink – in rose light.

“Why all the questions about Xi’an?” he prods, and that stupid fucking helmet actually intimidates you – actually seems to give off an air of _concern_.

You shrug. “I don’t know – I –“

He takes a sudden step back - as if you’ve struck him.

“Do you - do you think that I’d want her still?” He sounds incredulous - almost angry.

“Um..no?” You try to screw your face up into something _indifferent_ \- _casual_.

Mando tuts dubiously.

_No, I was not jealous. Not at all. Definitely not. 100% not - which is why I definitely did not punch the shit out of her until I felt a smidge better._

“Mando – fuck um – “

He’s on you before you can flounder for another answer.

His gloved fingers bite into the skin of your jaw - your cheeks. His helmet is pressed up to you so close that your breath is fogging up the mirrored steel. His body pins yours into the wall - his thick thigh between your legs. You feel stretched out - bare to him with all your vulnerabilities now scattered to the winds.

“Why the fuck would I ever want anyone else?” he purrs – sweet and smooth through the modulator. “I’ve said it a million times – maybe not well enough it seems.” His broad hand slides down your face – coming to rest flat on your chest. “You’re beautiful and _good_ and I need you with me. There’s no one else.”

You sigh - your breath shaky as you cling to his shoulders - folding your fingers into the warm material of his mantle. “I know,” you shrug. “I just - I don’t know what I was thinking. It was weird being with someone who had...” You pause - blink up at him meaningfully – test the words in your mouth. “… _known_ you like I do.”

He chuckles at that - dark and heady. “I wouldn’t call what I did with her anything close to what I do with you.” He leans forward - his grip now gentle - _sweet_ \- as it moves back to cradle your face. “Xi’an is terrible - she’s cold and cunning. She cares for no one but herself and maybe her brother -”

“Which was kind of weird, to be honest,” you interrupt. “They were getting kind of handsy.”

He tilts his helmet – sighing. “What I’m saying, is that she’s not _you_. You have a heart - you care for people more than you let on. Look at you with the child - I - I watch you hold him and talk to him and it’s like nothing else matters. Everything you do, you do for the benefit of the people you care about.”

_Yes - all two of them._

“I mean...I do kill people for credits,” you point out, but your tongue is thick in your mouth – you’re finding it hard to swallow.

 _Damn Mando_ and his stupid fucking way of telling you how wonderful you are and making you feel like you actually _mean_ something in this enormous galaxy. You _burn_ for him. You crave him - your nerves spark when he touches you - when he speaks to you in that low, cool voice that slides up the base of your spine until it enfolds itself into the meat of your core. It’s unhealthy - it’s too damn much - and all you want to do is rip his helmet off and kiss him senseless.

“You kill bad people,” he retorts. “And most of the time you just incapacitate them.”

“I suppose.”

He touches you with purpose – with determined caresses that make your cunt flutter around _nothing_.

“I think I need to prove this to you,” he husks – his fingers already popping at the button of your pants. “Show you how _fucking_ much I want you, you gorgeous girl.” Your vision goes dizzy – your heart close to hammering straight out of your chest – violent against the shudder of your ribs.

He raises his helmet up slightly. Beneath the shadow of it - he tugs his glove off with his teeth. _Maker_. His hand chases down your belly before he gets his thick fingers into your underwear – sweeping through the slick, wet mess of your cunt.

 _“Stars,”_ he groans – smoky and delirious. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Long day,” you murmur – breathless.

“Poor thing,” he croons – burying you further into the wall with the hulking weight of his body. “Poor little thing – so desperate for me – so needy while every fucking piece of shit in that hangar got hard just looking at you – just _wanting_ to take you from me.”

Mando was on one – it was in the firmness he used as he stroked your folds – as he kept you pinned to the wall – the ragged quality of his voice that bled low – apparent even through the filter of his helmet.

“I could have killed Mayfield,” he growls – as he curls his finger up inside you. It’s not enough – you need more – you need all of him.

“I could have killed Xi’an,” you croak as he sinks a second finger into your pussy – up to the knuckle. It’s wet – so wet that you can hear him – hear the way your soaked cunt swallows his fingers greedily. He drags them out before he buries them back in – scissoring and stretching as he curls his thumb over your clit and _presses_.

“Well – don’t we make a pair,” he mutters as he drops to his knees – shoving at your pants as you try and help him.

“What’s this?” he hisses as he grabs your arm – the red smeared cut split through your sleeve. _Oh_.

“Eh,” you grumble. “That’s nothing. You should see the other chick.”

You can _hear_ him grinning. “I did.”

He pulls at your boots – your pants – grazing his touch over the sensitive patches of your skin – your ankle, the underside of your knee. The sticky, chafed junctures of your limbs.

“I’m all sweaty,” you complain. “I should shower first.”

He secures his hold on your thighs. “Baby,” he rumbles. “I like it that way.”

_Stars. Stars. Stars._

“Can you keep your eyes closed,” he asks. It’s quiet – the whole world of the cockpit seems like a dream – cloudy and soft. Hazy. The lull of the hyperdrive – the blinking red and green lights.

“Yeah,” you pant. “Yeah, Mando.”

You do. You do it for him because you’d do anything he asked and sometimes that darkness is nice – is welcome – is warm just like the cup of Mando’s mouth between your legs. You practically buck against him when you hear the clatter of his helmet.

It starts on your arm – the molten, slide of his tongue along the shallow cut flesh. It’s filthy – the thought of him tasting you there where it’s scabbed over – gritty with dried blood.

He kisses your stomach – the top of your cunt and the thin skin where thigh meets hip. He grabs a fistful of your ass – forcing one of your legs up over his shoulder. He blows cool air over your soaked folds – the throbbing nub of your clit.

He leans forward – taking it gently between his teeth – nursing at it while he drives his fingers up and into you and _oh – oh fucking fuck oh_ – it’s a lot – overstimulating as he makes you shudder against the onslaught of his mouth. He switches fingers with tongue – fucking you on both in an obscene dance. Your hands thread into thick curls for balance and when you tug, he keens like something injured – an animal in a trap.

“You taste so good,” he hums. “Best thing I’ve ever had.”

You arch up into him – hips grinding back into his mouth. “Gonna give you something,” he slurs – as he licks up into you. “Something I’ve never given anyone else.”

“What’s that?” you moan. Your orgasm is climbing – licking its way through your bones – circling and winding up – turning you inside out and _Maker_ Mando eats pussy like he was born to do it and you wonder if it has something to do with how good he is at shooting guns – his prowess as a warrior.

Logic. Questions. Out the mother fucking window.

“You gonna come, gorgeous?” he urges – his fingers back to ruining you – deep and curling up against that patchy piece inside you that makes you go _liquid_ – that makes you _gush_. He’s spreading your cunt – lapping at everything that your body is producing. It’s _right fucking there_ – and you can’t breathe properly – teeth sinking into the fat of your lip as your hips stutter against his face before -

_“Fuck – Mando –“_

_\- you explode_ – your knees buckle and you _come_ like you haven’t come before – it’s sopping and slippery and Mando is _taking it_ – his fingers digging into your ass cheek as he holds you up – his lips soft on your convulsing pussy as he _kisses_ and _swirls_ his tongue and it's raw and aching and too intense and you have to shove at him a little to get him to stop.

You feel him breathe – feel him nuzzle your thigh with his nose. He carefully places your foot back on the floor – standing up and pulling you to his chest. You keep your eyes closed – your body still trembling.

“Good girl,” he coaxes. “Sweet thing.”

He tilts your chin up to kiss you – to pull your lower lip between his teeth and _suck_ it lewdly. It’s a dirty kiss – frantic and hot and you can taste yourself – all that sweat and brine and his nails still clawed into your ass – before his other hand curls around your jaw.

“I need to give you it,” he reminds you. “What I haven’t given anyone before.”

You startle – mind clearing as you digest what he’s saying. He ghosts his lips over yours again – slow and intimate – comforting.

“Din,” he says – sure and steady. “My name is Din.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I want to expand more on these two - porn snapshots as they inevitably fall in love (I mean they kind of already are but they don't know that). I'd like to say that I appreciate every single comment (I still need to respond to them) - I really really love the feedback - it truly motivated me to get this second part out.
> 
> https://charnelhouse.tumblr.com/


	3. for a minute there, I lost myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see someone from your past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am playing fast and loose with time here - the prisoner episode may have just happened but I'm pretending that everything involving the empire and Nevarro has gone down. It’s safe for Mando to go there and speak to Karga - collect bounties. I’m not sure if I will bring in the plot of Mando season two, but I’m not closing the door on it. Right now - I’d rather focus on them discovering each other with their green child.

A trembling hand yanks your skull back - forcing your cheek against the rough brush of facial hair on a razor-sharp jawline. There’s a burst of damp pain where Din sinks his teeth into your shoulder - his tongue stretching lazily over the mark he leaves.

 _Din_ you think - you hold it close to your belly. _Din_ fucking _Din_.

And then you’re crying it out - hoarse and ragged - as he shoves his hips up against your ass - thrusting so deep you might just _break_. You’re swelling up with the climb of your orgasm - the swift touch of pleasure pulsing between your legs.

Is this it? Is this the time he finally destroys you completely - pulls you apart with his practiced hands and sweet tongue and thick, punishing cock?

 _Maybe_.

“Stars - your cunt is so fucking tight,” he growls.

You’re unbearably sore - inner thighs chafed and rubbed raw - and you don’t know how he’s still fucking you at such a frantic, brutal pace. It’s been hours of this - long, stretched out hours of sex ever since he’d told you his name. The pattern of the cockpit’s floor is no doubt imprinted into your skin - and _oh_ your lower muscles are cramping as your core winds up - _higher_ , _faster_ \- before you clamp down on him - walls convulsing into a rubberband vice. It causes him to groan into your scalp - twitch against you as he tries to slow himself down.

“How many is that?” he husks - as he strokes his finger down your leg- squeezing your flesh by the handful.

“You know - _fuck_ stop doing that - _it’s sensitive_ \- it’s - I don’t know - five -maybe, six?” Your voice is wrecked - caught on something shattered, drained, and near-incoherent.

He’s really pushing it thinking that you remember absolutely anything at all about tonight - you’ve practically blacked out every time he manages to brush the head of his cock against your g-spot like some stupid magic sex wizard. _How does he get so deep? How does he have sex like it is a coordinated attack - strategized and handled with a brute hand?_ Fingertips wrecking the nub of your clit - while he pries your thighs apart and ruts - grinding his hips all the way into your ass as if he could consume you and still - still - managing to kiss you like it matters - like it counts - like every time he wants you to cry from the tenderness of it.

He grips your jaw - thumb digging into the bone - wrenching your head to the side so that he can seal his mouth to yours - filthy and slow and wet as his tongue drags and strokes. “Definitely more than six,” he murmurs in between the slide of his lips.

The cockpit is in shadow - the stars giving _nothing_ as they glimmer above in the deep, thick of the galaxy. _Far away_ \- _lost_. Din is just shapes - just dark pieces of himself that are currently owning you in every way. You _almost_ want his face - you want to see him in the light - trace his cheekbones with the pads of your fingers - the hooked line of his nose as he nuzzles it into your throat.

“Maker,” he rasps. “I never want to stop fucking you - you’re so damn pretty - so sweet and dangerous and - and - _fuck_ I could be inside you forever.”

_Sweet?_

That’s undeserved. That’s inaccurate.

And perhaps he feels you tense up because suddenly he’s got his muscular forearm pulled over your chest so he can bring you _impossibly_ closer against him.

“You are sweet,” he moans out. “Sweet - and - and maybe the kid and I are the only ones who know that. But - you are.”

It’s perfect - honey words that make your heart shudder in the well-guarded cage of your chest. You could cry, but you’re also tired - and throbbing - and wet - not even good wet - more like _I have soaked the entire floor of this room and we’re gonna have to clean it with absolute precision before the baby wakes up and waddles all over it_.

“I-I’m only sweet with you,” You slam your palm down on the hulking mass of his thigh as he gets in a particularly good stroke. “Just - not - it’s not good for my rep to be sweet -”

“Damn right,” he snarls. “You can’t - you’re not allowed to be nice to anyone else.”

You almost laugh - almost snort - but Din sounds _sincere_ enough that you hold it back - swallowing your tongue.

“You want another one?” he urges.

_No. Fuck. Is he insane?_

You bite your lip - arching your back enough that your ass shoves out against him. “Din,” you whisper - his cock seemingly getting _harder_ at his own name. “Din - baby - I’m - I can’t - I need to stop. I really won’t be able to walk after this.”

He hushes you - broad hand smoothing your damp hair. “One more and then I’m done. I know you can do it - c’mon, pretty girl. Just one more for me.”

_He’s out of his mind. He’s out of his fucking mind._

_But - okay. You’re not a quitter._

He quickens his pace - lowering himself just a little so that he can cram his cock _up_ into you - grazing against the inside of your pussy as he uses his fingers to draw tight, little circles around your overworked clit.

He keeps his mouth to your ear - soft and warm - his breath fanning across your face as he _praises_ you. The words jumble together - losing their meaning until they’re throaty, desperate pleas and he’s already fucking _got_ you - it’s a hurricane of pleasure in the center of your gut and you come - come violently - before you even know it's happening. Your scream is dry - strained and damn near _demolished_ \- as your cunt pulses around him and you bathe him in your slick - all over his thighs and groin and it makes him choke on his own spit.

“Fuck you _filthy_ thing,” His hands bite into your hip. “Fuck you get so wet - _so wet_.”

He’s stammering now - his thrusts erratic and messy and you can _hear_ what it sounds like - the gushing, squelch of his cock sliding in and out and you’re _done_ \- overheated - stripped like open nerves so you wrap your hand around the back of his head and tear into the full, wavy curls of his hair before ordering - “Come, Din.”

“Fuck - I -”

“Come inside me. I-I need it.”

And he does on command - _for a while_ \- the warm bloom of it so fucking deep like the press of his palm on your cheek - the slip of his lips on your throat.

* * *

The baby is in a _mood_. He’s been babbling for the last four hours in between bouts of tears and somber gurgling.

“He’s hungry.”

“He just ate all those crackers from Tatooine.”

“The last of them,” you point out as the child plays with the zipper on your vest before putting it in his mouth. “No,” You tug it away. “That’s gross.”

“We’ll be on Nevarro in less than an hour,” Din says. “He can have as much food there as he wants.”

You hum in agreement - rocking the child as you pet the tiny strands of hair on his fragile shell of a scalp.

“And you,” He turns - a banner of hyperspace shades glinting off the reflective surface of his helmet. “You are going to eat there, too. When was the last time you ate or slept? You look exhausted.”

You shift in your chair - the uncomfortable ache between your legs. _REALLY?_

“Uh well - why do you think that is?” Your tone is more biting than you mean it to be, but _you_ are tired.

And hungry. 

He freezes - gloved fingers tightening on the thruster. “I _think_ you liked it.”

“Beside the point!” you snap. “No commenting on me looking like shit because you needed to-” Your eyes fall on the child’s upturned face - his curious gaze blinking up at you. “Needed to uh - dance with me all night.”

His helmet swings back to you sharply. “I didn’t say you looked like shit. You’re always beautiful - even when you’re tired.”

“Now you’re just trying to work me over.”

“Good. Maybe - I’ll get lucky.” And even through the damn modulator - he manages to sound _seductive_.

You huff. “Give me - I don’t know - a day to recover.”

“That bad?”

“Yes.”

He makes a smug sort of sound - sitting up straighter in his chair. Your mouth quirks.

 _Asshole_.

* * *

The desert on Nevarro is jagged and tough - low mountains drenched in red earth and littered with dried green brush. The ground is always hot - baked from the natural volcanic makeup.

It’s a shit town - dusty and small - devoid of life beyond the stragglers and the runaways who have fled their spotted histories. But it’s also - _comforting_?

You know what to expect when you get there - know that it’s now _okay_ to venture into the hub of this place since you and Mando had removed the threat of Moff Gideon and the fungus of the Imperial remnant. They’d handled it in a _violently spectacular_ fashion. You nearly get wet at the memory of Mando saving them with the jetpack.

Now - you can relax with the child and Din without the unsettling feeling that you'll be murdered. You can eat and _maybe_ get buzzed as a balm for your very tender muscles and _then_ struggle back to the Razor Crest and sleep for days in Din’s deliciously powerful arms. 

The cantina is bustling - golden light spilling warm over the night-touched sand. The resounding laughs and cheers and slurred chatter. Live music pumping from some ramshackle band of locals.

Din moves past you to walk ahead - always on guard when entering a new room - always forming his body as a barrier between you and whatever danger may be around the corner. The baby coos happily in his floating pram - recognizing the Cantina and most likely the promise of food.

“Soon, cutie,” you murmur as you rub his ears. “I know you’re hungry.”

Mando makes his way deep into the bar and it’s almost comical to see how the crowd splits away from him - expressions of caution - apprehension - some even twisted in fear.

 _Hot_.

And as the masses part - as you get a clear glimpse of the bar and the people waiting for drinks - it’s _well_ it’s as if your entire world stops - as if everything goes to syrup - slow and dazed and frozen and your heart is _bursting_ to the point of pain - the entire acidic contents of your stomach rising up your throat...

 _Him_.

He’s leaning against the sleek bar - his dark honey hair curling over his forehead. The slash of his stubbled jaw - those blue eyes that had reminded you so much of the smooth, silky expanse of space and all of the haunting dangers at the end of it. Your hand flutters to your throat - a cold sweat breaks out over your forehead.

Din stops when he realizes you aren’t following him. He tilts his helmet over his shoulder to check on you before doing a dramatic double-take.

You must...you must look scared.

Your skin is too hot.

_Why were you here to begin with?_

The baby chirps from his bed, but it feels far away - _everything_ feels far away.

Din is immediately in front of you - his gloved hands securely on your shoulders - his helmet tipped towards you - shining bright and nearly blinding as he leads you to the corner of the bar. When he speaks, his voice is comforting- lilting - as if he was buried inside you and stroking your face. _Making sure you were with him - making sure he had you._ It bruises something in your chest.

“What is it?”

You try and reply and all you can do is shudder - whole body shaking and teeth chattering inside the seal of your mouth. You shut your eyes tightly before you feel his palms on your cheek - warm - tender.

_Din. Din. Din._

You gaze up at him and all you manage is “ _Please_ \- I - I need to go back to the ship.”

Din whirls around - his helmet scanning the room as he tries to pinpoint why the fuck you’ve gone catatonic.

“Stay,” you breathe - trying to steady your heart. “Meet-meet with Karga. Get food for the baby.”

He snorts - unconvinced - before twisting back toward you - holding you under his arm. He’s never been this obvious - this public with his affection. He’s - he’s physically protecting you because it’s the only way he knows how - wrapping his body around yours despite not even knowing the truth of your fear.

He leans forward - jamming his hand beneath your hair and hauling you against his chest.

“What is wrong,” he hisses against your ear - his tone bleeding frustration before it almost devolves into a plea. “Please tell me. You’re...this isn’t like you.”

“The ship,” you grind out. “I’ll tell you on the ship - just please can I go.”

“I’m not letting you walk back there alone.”

You exhale - clenching your jaw - biting your tongue to get your head on straight. You need to show him you’re okay or he’ll never let you leave.

“Mando. I’ve been defending myself for a long damn time. I’ll be okay. Karga is going to take 15 minutes.”

As if one cue - Karga spots Mando from afar and shouts his name and then - _well_ then he shouts yours and at the corner of your vision - you spot that perfectly familiar shape, that profile you know and _fear_ \- it straightens - it turns and _oh fuck fuck fuck_

“Gonna go,” you whisper. “Just get the pucks and come back to me.”

And before he can stop you, you make a run for it. It’s cheap and immature but you don’t give a shit. Your terror is a live thing - slithering and bloated and filling your insides with an oily mass.

You nearly collapse when you get outside the bar - the sand shapeless and giving beneath your feet. It’s cold tonight - blessedly cold and the moons are achingly pale and as purple-blue as the icy fog on Maldo Kreis. You drink down the clean air before following the trail of the moons’ shine as it guides you back to the Razor Crest.

You knew that face...it was branded deep - sealed inside the tissue of your fucking brain stem.

_Dechard_

* * *

_Your body hurts - it hurts so badly and tears spring to your eyes as you stumble to your knees. There’s a prick at your throat - a knife held fast and tight as it cuts into your flesh._

_“Do better,” he demands. “This is sloppy work and you’d be dead if I pushed this farther into your neck.”_

_“I-I’m so tired,” you sob - your bones shifting in your wrist from where he’d nearly broken it in his grip. “Can I please sleep...can I rest just for a little bit?”_

_He stands slowly - removing the blade so that you can get up with him. Finally...finally._

_He grabs your jaw - thumb pushing into your skin. His voice is unflinchingly sweet - and thus suspicious. He’s looking at you with that predator black-eyed stare - the one with all that well-tuned emptiness inside it. He could either release you or sink his teeth into you._

_“You don’t rest because you will never rest,” he murmurs - touching the tiny slit on your neck - the drops of blood. “You will fight for the rest of your life - move for the rest of your life - run and hide and kill with the kind of grace - the kind of talent - that only I can teach you.”_

_“Fight me again,” His hand is hot - the skin of his cheeks burned near red from the pulse of the sun above them. “Don’t get lazy. Remember what happened last time.”_

_The scarred flesh beneath your ribs pounds._

_“I remember,” you reply and he grins._

* * *

You didn’t mean for him to find you like this. You’re embarrassed - ashamed and you can’t properly decipher how Din is looking at you - if he’s pissed - if he’s sad or annoyed or disgusted - it’s all just blank - _the chrome_ shell staring at you with..with _nothing_.

Even the baby is peeking at you from his blankets - concerned.

He’d been gone maybe half an hour - his arms are filled with bags of what you assume is food - the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread and you bet he threatened Karga or at least _someone_ in that bar to get it and get it _fast_.

“Are you...are you drunk?”

The liquor burns in your throat - curdles your belly and you tip backward onto the cot - the jangle of the metal springs vibrating inside the hull.

“It’s just a couple - a couple of shots,” you reply - trying to _not_ slur.

“On an empty stomach,” he points out before he quietly puts the bags down. “I’m going to set the kid up with some food and then - we are going to fucking talk.”

_Great. Swell. Let’s dig into my childhood - adulthood - fucking lifehood trauma._

You chug half of the bottle.

* * *

“What _is_ this?” He doesn’t sound angry - despite the modulator - despite the cold of it - he sounds worried - almost incredulous.

You’re hunched over on the cot - your knees drawn up against your chest as you tilt the glass of purple alcohol from one hand to the next.

“Hmm?”

He sighs loudly before walking over to the bed. When he sits - the single white-light from above sparks a flame of color across the mirrored skull of his helmet. The rest of the room is in shadows - in pleasant darkness and a piece of you - most of you - wants to creep away from him - crawl into the sweet, black _nothing_.

He removes his glove and flexes his broad hand over your ankle. The skin is golden and smooth - it’s a handsome fucking hand, which is a weird thing to get hung up on. These are the fragments of him you receive- the bread crumbs he gives you because _right now_ he wants to knead you into submission - get you to open up and _trust_ him.

_And you do trust him...that’s just - that’s just how it is now._

His palm is flushed - slightly damp from his glove - as he drags it over your bare foot. When he speaks - his tone is kind - indulgent.

“What - what did that guy mean to you?”

“You guessed who I was looking at?”

“Only new face I’ve seen in that bar in a long time.”

Of course - Din is the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. He has a photographic memory - he recalls the finest details at the drop of a hat. He is pragmatic - calculating - severe in a very attractive way. He _would_ know - _of course_ \- he would know.

He squeezes your ankle. “Sweetheart - “

 _That_ man is a mark on your soul - tar coating you into something immobile - heavy and hideous. He’s around you - wrapping your bones in his tender vines - his touch like something vile and cursed despite the forgiving, gentle tone he would use when he spoke to you.

“He-he - Maker - I don’t know how to even start...”

You take another heavy swig of the alcohol - feel it turn your belly to warm comfort - loosening your tongue. Din clicks his teeth - and you _know_ that he’s holding back on chastising you. You can practically hear his jaw ticking as he restrains himself

_Where to begin? Where to even begin?_

_You could show him, though._

Suddenly you sit up - snatching Din’s hand and yanking him towards you.

“What the fuc-”

You force his hand underneath your shirt - pressing it against the ridge of a scar below your ribs. He’d asked about it before and you had flat out lied to him - _Bar fight, Mando. You should have seen the other guy._

He stares at your stomach before he begins to caress it - feel it with a dawning sort of realization.

“ _He_ did that to you?” He’s appalled - his shoulders tensing up - his other hand clenching into a fist at his hip.

“He trained me, I guess,” you reply lamely. _That was an oversimplification_.

Din says nothing - just continues to stroke your flesh - thumb digging into your side. _He’s waiting for you to keep going_.

“Trained is - is not _exactly_ what it was,” you finally admit. “It - well it was abuse. I didn’t have parents or protection of any kind. He was really all I had to an extent. I didn’t understand that what he was putting me through was bad - not at the time - and mostly because I had never known a kind hand in my life. I just thought that was how it was.” You swallow - your mouth very dry. “He terrified me and once I had an out, I left and I never looked back - didn’t think I’d see him again.”

He’s still - perfectly _still_ \- a great, unmoving statue of reflective Beskar.

“Din,” You touch his shoulder - curling your fingers into his cape. You want to shove your face against his neck - taste his warmth and that soapy, musk that coats his skin. He’s broad - so broad and tall - possessive and protective and _rides_ for you like no one else.

It’s so strange - so unfamiliar - to have someone in your corner.

“I’m - um - _fuck,”_ He clears his throat - and you feel his fingers tremble against your skin. “ _Maker_ \- I - I’m gonna go back there -”

You grab his hand - shove it up against your chest - keep it folded over the throb of your heart. “No - you aren’t.”

You already know - he’s not _good_ with his anger - and it is so like Din to wish he had control - wish he had the ability to change the past and to have saved you from something that was already intrinsic to who you were - your foundation. Your soil.

He says your name - swirled hot over the grit of a growl. “He - he _fucking_ hurt you - I can’t - “

He can barely get the words out - his fury building and only obvious to you because you know his body language better than anyone. That anger is always something to behold - it’s honestly _arousing_ because he is beautiful for it _but_ \- this is not his fight - and certainly not one you’re willing to risk him for.

You lean over to put the bottle on the floor. Your hands are still tight on his knuckles as you lie back against the cot. “Din - can you just stay here with me for a while? I just want to sleep - I want to sleep so badly and I - I won’t be able to if you leave and - “

It’s like everything inside him goes out - deflates at the sound of you _pleading_.

He hushes you. He uncurls his fist to cradle your jaw with his broad hands before cupping your cheeks - thumb brushing over your lower lip until you settle under him.

“Okay, pretty,” he agrees - stroking your hair. “Sleep and I’ll be here.”

* * *

_The blood tastes like metal. There’s a cut along your gums - your hands are slippery with your kill. You’re gasping for breath - a rib aching from an obvious fracture, a jammed finger joint._

_The body jerks beneath you - a final twinge as you tug the blade out of its lifeless skull._

_“Yes,” Dechard croons - his nails biting into your shoulder - squeezing the curves of muscle that he has honed with brutality. “Perfect work.”_

_You did good. You made him proud. Your lips twitch on a smile and before you can look up at him - he threads his fingers through your hair and rips - your head flies back forcing your throat into a painful irregular shape. You cry out - choking on the dust-streaked air._

_He chuckles. “You let your guard down. Right then.” He tugs harder. “That was a mistake and I don’t treat mistakes with kindness, little one.”_

_“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I-I didn’t mean to.”_

_“You’ll fight me,” he orders. “FIght me until you don’t forget.”_

_Your name..._ you hear your name - frantic and beating against the side of your head. There are hands on you - hands all over you - _No...no..no, please..._

“Listen to me - _fuck_ \- stop struggling - listen to me - I’m not him. I’m not him. I’ve got you,” he is hauling you against him - his forearms trapping you - locking you into the bulk of his chest as each breath is punched out of your lungs. Your nails scratch at smooth metal before you find warm flesh - your vision blurred - unfocused. “Stop, baby, - it’s okay - _ow shit_ -”

_Din._

_You’re awake -_ you’re with Din and on a ship and miles away from your home planet, but you can’t stop _crying_.

There’s a crash - metal clattering across the hull - echoing and too loud and you realize he’s tossed his helmet. You freeze - there’s the brush of his jaw as he presses his lips to your temple. “Feel me,” he coaxes. “Feel me. I’m right here.”

His kisses are sweet - frenzied as he puts his lips to the side of your face again and again and you won’t turn your head - you can’t - it’s not dark enough.

“You’re safe, baby. You’re fucking safe, pretty girl. It’s alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” you sob - your lungs constricting to nothing - panic violently flooding your system. You shove the back of your hand over your mouth - trying to stifle each anxious gasp. You didn’t mean to do that - to break so spectacularly - to shatter like this and to scream awake because of stupid, ridiculous nightmares. You were a fucking _hunter_ \- you didn’t cry or turn away when your tragedies reared their ugly heads - _remember us_ \- _remember how low you got_ \- _how weak you were_ \- _stars -_ you didn’t know you’d react like this - to feel those old wounds reopen and spray their viscera all over your brand new life that had been so _good_ to you.

Your torso is seizing- you can barely expel oxygen - everything is tightening up as if you were on the peak of a soul-shattering orgasm, but nothing comes. There is no relief from this. You are on the precipice of _something_ and Din is embracing you so intensely - as if he could climb inside you. You _need_ more.

You tug his wrist to your nose - savoring the salt of his sweat, the balmy, smoky residue of him.

_More._

“I need you,” you whisper. “Want to feel you. Please... _please_ Din.”

Din doesn’t say another word - just rummages around behind him - stretching his arm out while keeping you locked to his body - before the lights are shut off completely. He makes a low sound in his throat - curling his hand around your jaw and dragging your face to his and then there is the warm, wet touch of his mouth. It is hurried - desperate - and it _burns_ you - overwhelms you as you hold onto the thick curls of his hair and let him fuck you with his tongue as his lips move against yours.

You claw at his pants - your thighs spread around his hips as you lock him to you with your knees. He helps you, shoving at your clothes - nearly tearing your underwear to the side - spitting on his hand - stroking his cock - lining himself up before burying himself to the hilt. He fucks you into the damn mattress - _fast_ \- pulling a high, fragile noise from your throat every time he bottoms out.

It’s not even kissing at this point - just lips close together- barely skimming against the other because he keeps thrusting into you harder and you can’t catch your breath and instead it’s all just a disjointed mess of _Din Din Din_ and _fuck make me feel good_ and _please_...and your hands are splayed across the Beskar that covers the muscles of his shoulder blades - scrambling and trying to find your grip -

He doesn’t form words - just deep, raspy grunts as he clutches the metal frame above your head - angling himself upward until his cock is dragging against the tender, patchy spot inside you - and then you’re _climaxing_ \- going to _mush_ \- boneless, weightless - near sobbing as Din follows you down - his teeth clamping into your shoulder.

* * *

You manage to force him out of the rest of his armor. As much as you’d like to cuddle a pile of Beskar, you want him naked - want him raw and on top of you so he can enfold you into the thin, shitty bed.

They lie like that - curled around each other in the darkness. Your skin sticks to Din’s as he traces patterns into your upper back. His pointed chin juts into your skull.

“I thought you wanted a break,” he teases.

It’s a relief - his playful tone - his _lack_ of anger.

“I made an exception,” you mumble into his chest - the hair tickling your nose. “I needed it.”

He makes a soft, content mouth sound before falling silent.

An hour passes...maybe less...maybe more. You focus on sensations - Din’s bareness - his almost volcanic heat as he crushes you against him. The textures on his form - the indents and humps of muscle - his cock still wet with you that rests on your thigh.

He exhales sharply and you know he’s about to say something as his grip tightens.

His mind most likely firing off ideas and solutions as soon as you'd told him about your past. _Din likes to fix you_. 

“Darling girl,” he begins - brushing your hair behind your ears. “Give me his name. Just need his name and I’m gonna fucking hunt him down and peel him apart - break every bone - slow and painful -“ he nudges his nose against yours - his lips painfully soft as his tongue darts out to _taste_ the inside of your mouth.

You shiver - let him press his warm skin along your bare shoulder - everything is nice like this - _safe_. You’re safe from _that_ particular pain - protected from Dechard and his... _his_ control. “My sweet thing,” Din continues as he tilts your chin up. “My gorgeous, perfect thing - tell me his name.” His fingers dig into the meat of your arm - not painful - just solid, sturdy pressure. “I’ll kill him for you. I swear it - I want to - I - I _fucking_ need to.”

“Din,” you murmur. “It’s - it is pointless.”

He pauses - the low hum of a growl as he exhales through his nose - trying to steer himself from anger. It still shocks you - how easily he slips his skin - loses the tender clarity he possesses when he’s _simply_ Din and he’s on this ship with you and the baby. You forget sometimes who he is at his core - the predatory grace that paints his killing.

Sometimes... sometimes you forget that’s you, too. He grabs your wrists - circles them gently.

“It’s not pointless,” he replies. “I-I have never seen you react that way. You’re always so...I don’t know self-possessed? Calm? You looked so frightened and -” He swallows something thick before revealing. “It broke me a little bit.”

“Din-”

“And now you tell me that he _abused_ you - “

You reach for his face - stroke the sharp angle of a cheekbone. “I know you want to save me, Din.” He pulls back from you and you can feel that he’s going to fight you on this - deny it. “I don’t want you to go after him - I need you _here_ and with me. I can’t have him - have him hurt you or - no don’t snort - he’s fucking good at what he does and you may be better but it’s still dangerous.” You sigh - helpless - pathetic. “I don’t - I don’t want him to infect what we have here.” You lean forward and kiss him gently. “Please.” You kiss him harder - possessive. “Please stay with me. Please _be_ with me here...with the kid...just please understand...”

He is absolutely motionless for a solid five minutes. Finally, he groans - scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. I-I won’t go after him. You shouldn’t persuade me like that - the whole begging thing - it really fucking works.”

“I was gonna try through sexual favors if you didn’t agree the first time around.”

He stiffens. “Really?”

“Mmm yeah.”

You climb on top of him before you leisurely slither down his body - massaging the tight, bunched parts of him - the leftover scar tissue. “Thank you, Din,” you smile before you dip your tongue over the divots of his stomach muscles and he jerks up on his elbows. 

“Thank you, Din,” as you slide down between his legs and thank him again and _again_.

_You wish it had ended there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments FEED my soul. They're so wonderful and I appreciate all the feedback. Obviously - the ending means we will be running into this asshole soon.
> 
> https://charnelhouse.tumblr.com/


	4. sound of the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din takes you on a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This couple bangs like a lot - but honestly, Mando probably would after years of not really having intimacy with anyone quite so important to him. Anyway - here is some fluff before the storm. I also have no clue how planets work - literally none so I’m basing all my stuff on Wookiepedia. Does a moon have another moon? Sure.

It’s unlike him - completely and utterly unlike Din Djarin to do this.

From the observation shield, you take in the blue sea, the masses of greenery, the gauzy forms of pale clouds. It’s _Dorumaa_ \- a resort moon that had been terraformed by the Dorumma Investment Group. As the Crest drops through the atmosphere - you can already feel the heat - the embrace of the tropics. Power generators had been installed near the once-frozen moon’s core to supply recycled atmosphere and a summery climate. 

This - _this_ \- moon is meant for pleasure and relaxation...for families.

_What?_

Din clears his throat and you whirl around to meet his gaze.

“You - you looked like you needed a break. I just thought it might be a good idea to do something...” He rubs a gloved hand over his chest - the Beskar gleaming as he shifts his weight. “...fun,” he finishes lamely.

_Fun?_

You give him a pointed look. “Is there a mark here?”

“No,” he replies quickly - too quickly.

“Mando,” Your voice is indulgent. “You are nothing if not pragmatic. I get it.”

“Maybe there is,” he shrugs. “But it won’t get in the way of - of the fun.” _Fun_ comes out so formal as if he has never uttered the word in his life or truly understood the meaning. His helmet tilts toward you - his tone sliding into something frustrated. “And don’t call me Mando. Not when we’re in here. Not when it’s just you and me and the kid.”

“Sorry - force of habit.”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Say my name then.”

 _That_ really shouldn’t have made you shiver or burst hot between your legs.

And yet.

“Din,” you purr as he takes a fierce step toward you. His entire body tenses - his shoulders bunching as if his name out of your mouth strokes him intimately.

“Say it again.”

“Din.”

And then he’s on you.

He pins you up against the hull - the metal warm from the running engine. Your breath catches - your heart swelling - adrenaline blooming white-hot in your gut. He’s lifting your knee over his hip before you realize that he has strategically changed the direction of this conversation.

“Din,” you murmur as he leans his helmet against your forehead. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighs - releasing you and taking a step back. You had felt how hard he was when he’d held himself against you - _honestly_ you should have fucked him first before demanding answers - but he made you too fucking dizzy - made you forget yourself - made you struggle for conversation as soon as he’d finish.

“I wanted to make you happy,” he explains simply - bluntly - his voice far from the stuttering mess it gets when he’s overwhelmed.

Your hand flutters to your throat before you shove it back into the pocket of your vest. _Uncontrolled_. He had the extremely irritating quality of throwing you completely off your guard.

“Happy?” you echo back.

“You’ve had a rough few weeks,” he acknowledges. “And I know you’re weird about me sometimes... _doing_ things for you, but I hope you will let me _do_ this.” He’s fiddling with his hands - fingers curling and uncurling into fists and it’s all the direction you have in terms of how the fuck he feels about this. His Beskar is giving you nothing. “This is unlike me...I don’t know...I’m new to all this.“

“All what?”

He sighs - nearly growling as he navigates through this _confession_. “Us, pretty.”

_Oh._

“This...whatever this is. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I just know that what happened a couple weeks ago made me want to do something to take your mind off of it.”

You frown. “My mind is off of it.”

Din manages to look _doubtful_ with how he’s holding himself - with how the blank helmet is staring you down. “You cry in your sleep sometimes,” he reveals so softly that you barely catch it.

Your throat closes up. _Shit_.

“Well - uh - that’s embarrassing.”

His helmet jerks. “ _No_ ,” he snaps. “Don’t do that. It’s not something you can help and - and I want you to be okay with being - you know - vulnerable with me...you can be open with me. I’d never judge you. Not ever.” He swallows thickly. “I just - _I just_ \- would like to make you happy for a little bit - even if it’s just for the time we have here on this island.”

 _Ma_ ker _._ This conversation was certainly fucking out of the damn gate - out of control - both of them now racing somewhere extremely dangerous and you couldn’t find the brake - the thruster to slow this down before you were crashing sky high.

You don’t know what to say or _really_ how to feel. He is flat out giving you something here. He went out of his way to plan this _vacation_ and maybe there is a bounty, but it doesn’t fucking matter because that is simply their life: pleasure wrapped in some straight-forward form of violence.

The thing is - the thing at the heart of this that is making you uncomfortable is that Din makes you happy all the damn time. He looks at you and makes you happy - he touches your arm and makes you happy. After you’d lost yourself on Nevarro - he had comforted you with his body and his words and you had felt _joy_. The nausea of your fear had receded to the point of a pin as Din had tucked you under his arm and distracted you with his fingers and the hot, scrape of his jaw and stories from all the strange planets he’d been to.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring off into space until Din makes an uncomfortable grunt. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I may have overstepped - “

“Shut up,” you cut in before lunging at him. You wrap your arms around his neck - shove your face into the soapy patch of skin between the helmet and the rest of his armor. The folds of his cape scratching your chin as you embrace him as if you could pull him into you - as if you could enfold him into the heat of your core to let him know what he means to you.

“You make me happy, Din,” you whisper - lips brushing along his thick hair that is curling at the nape of his neck. His hands tighten on your waist - a soft, genuine sound of relief. There’s the implication: the _you_ and the _make_ and the general declaration - the taste of _all the fucking time_.

You are so poor with your feelings - so out of your depth because they had been torn out of your head by the same man that had essentially caused Din to do this for you in the first place.

_Feelings are for the weak. Emotions are ridiculous. Use anger if anything - use fury._

Yes - feelings _are_ weak to a certain extent. You recall when Din nearly died during the showdown with Moff Gideon. You had clung to him - past the point of tears because shock had wrenched its way through your system. It had been molten in that room - flame licking at your back as the air turned red-black, choking smoke and you held onto him until he had weakly pushed you away. It had been _unlike_ you - to be hampered by despair - to be distracted to the point of losing all sense of self. _Emotion_. The real deal.

And what was there between the two of you at that point, but an intimate sort of care? A desperate kind of longing in which Din had become part of you somewhere along the way. You had no name for it and there certainly would be no discussing things of four-letters. _Nope_. _No_.

But - when Din _nearly_ died. You had felt something come unlatched inside you, felt yourself get sick - mouth filling with acid as you attempted a pathetic kind of _don’t you dare fucking die on me_ speech. He had begged you to leave - pleaded with you to allow him a noble, warrior’s death and the only fucking reason you listened to him was for the kid and being certain that the droid was going to save him.

At least, you _hoped_.

And that really was the emotion that Din brought out of you - _hope_. Your entire life was dedicated to simply staying alive - working to the next job and the next with no pleasure or rest or a moment of peace. You only kept going because it had been ingrained inside you - _go until you can’t_ \- _go until you bleed out or your heart stops or there is nothing left for you, but the edge of the world_. When you die is the only time you’re allowed to fail.

With Din and the child, you laughed. With Din, you came apart on his fingers or his insanely well-endowed dick. You cried from the strength of a climax. You smiled genuinely - not for show or to get what you wanted. You didn’t flirt like it was for a job - you did it because Din forced it out of you - pulling it forward with his well-timed jests and his unbearably dry humor.

 _I want to make you happy_.

Din had given you that - Din caused you to want to wake up and survive and _live_ in the real sense. Actually, _live_.

So when he had almost died - you had felt the first real urgency of doom - felt what it would be like to _lose_ in a way that would have shattered your heart. You would have never recovered.

“You ready to go,” Din breathes - his grip slowly loosening. “I want to get you in a bed.”

“Or the beach? Right on the sand.”

He shivers. “Whatever you _fucking_ want, baby.”

 _Yes_.

* * *

They maneuver through the main hub of the resort so they can gather supplies. It’s clean and loud - brightly painted buildings and enormous windows - golden brick roads that are organized in crisscrossed lines. There are huge neon signs guiding the crowds through the streets: Torz Beach, Tortoise Rides, Ice Bar, Porla Palace, Action World, Tropix Island, Whitesand Island, and Greentree Pointe. The population is made up mostly of humans, gungans, twi'leks, and reks. Like on every other planet, groups split to allow the Mandalorian to cut through them like a razor-honed knife - his armor so bright it nearly blinds you as you follow him. Numerous heads turn - eyes widening - mouths dropping open as they register that a true warrior is _here_ on a... _a vacation_.

When they get to the lobby of the resort, a rek hands Din some paperwork - his purple gaze sliding along your face as he smiles robotically. It looks _weird_. The lukewarm rubber of its thin skin stretches with the alarmingly wide crescent of its sharp, white teeth. The baby gurgles before giving you a sideways glance.

 _I know. Creepy_.

“Let’s go,” Din orders as he presses his gloved hand against the small of your back to lead you back outside. “It’s several miles away, but I figured the walk would be nice.”

* * *

This moon is an explosion of vibrant color. Thousands of beaches and volcanic island chains rising from pale, warm oceans. Jungle canopies. Flowers that bloom in shades you have no names for - fat, silky petals rupturing with golden pollen - roses bursting like the blood-orange sunsets on Tatooine.

There are areca nut palms that swish in the cool, gasp of afternoon wind. Giant peetalex sea grapes that drift in the open turquoise sea. In the distance, you can spot the shadowy form of a giant tortoise rising to meet the blanching sun - the fountain of spray from its snout.

“Mando,” you squeal - pointing at the creature. “Let’s put the baby on that. I’ve heard that you can ride them.”

Din shakes his head before grabbing your hand to pull you along the beach. “Not a chance,” he says. “No one is swimming far out. When they thawed the planet - they woke up a bunch of ancient species. We’re talking creatures like leviathans and gooberfish. it’s not uncommon for people to disappear if they go beyond the borders they’ve set out.”

“Um,” you gape. “Okay.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you entertained.”

His voice is throaty - riding on something hungry and eager.

* * *

He had reserved a small bungalow on an isolated shoreline of Greentree pointe. When you’d asked him about the cost, he had rumbled something about “a favor” and “hostages” and “black market vibroblades” so you left it at that.

The house is just a stack of off-white boxes eased into a grove of Lulari trees. This time of year - their branches birth pale violet flowers - bell-like and full. You lift the child up to pick one - let him explore the glossy texture between his stubby green fingers. His ears prick as he catches the natural sound that the lulari leaves make in the breeze. They act as wind chimes - the music lulling and gentle. The smell from them heady and sweet. His tiny mouth parts - eyes widening as he just _listens_ \- cooing quietly. When you peek over at Din - he’s watching the both of you. His expression unreadable.

The front door open is a brilliant shade of red - opening right onto the sand - the ocean foam kissing the shore mere feet away. There’s a terrace tucked into a grove of nut palms and as you step into the house, you’re overwhelmed by all of the open space. Square windows bleed light onto simple, wooden furniture - ceramic pots filled with orchids, sweet-pea, green agave, and strange pink blooms.

You’re so accustomed to the claustrophobic walls of the ship - the narrow, tight areas. When you step into the bathroom - tiled dark blue as a jewel box - you nearly leap for joy. _The space._ There is an actual _tub_.

“I uh - I might have requested black-out curtains for the bedroom,” Din husks - his hands biting into your hip as he pulls you back against the firm, hard planes of his front.

“How presumptuous of you,” you tease.

He chuckles. “As soon as the kid is down for his nap -”

You peer down at the child’s wide, curious eyes. His head pokes around the room as he excitedly looks at each new appliance or piece of furniture - especially the large, silver television screen.

“Pray for a miracle, then,” you mutter as you carry his wiggling body to the beach.

* * *

“Oh,” you moan. “Oh fuck - _Maker_ \- Din - that’s so good.”

“You like that, gorgeous girl?” His fingers are digging into the meat of your thigh - your nails scraping over his sun-touched hair. There’s sand caught in the strands - there’s sand fucking everywhere, to be honest.

His tongue is inside you - the muscle of it thick and _thrusting_ and _eating_ you in such a way that you press the palm of your hand to your mouth to keep from shrieking. You feel exposed despite how far away they are from anyone. When you _hear_ his fingers slide between the soaked folds of your cunt you arch into it - feel him tug the nub of your clit between his teeth and _suck_.

You were taken aback about just how _easily_ he was willing to remove his helmet - to be exposed in the naked, open outdoors. You had objected at first - nervous at him _allowing_ you this. 

_“Sweetheart - I trust you not to look and I want to lick that perfect, pretty pussy. Let me...c’mon let me make you come in my mouth.”_

As if you’d say no. You’d probably be blinded by the raw white burst of the sun if your eyes flew open anyway.

DIn really is devouring you - the point of his nose digging into the cleft of your sex. He’s humming into you - muttering about how sweet you taste - how he could dine on you forever.

It takes no time for you to come - it’s all too much. The fucking swell of tropical heat on your skin - the rough scrape of sand across your ass and the fact that Din took you here just to see you _smile_.

It is absurd - it is nauseatingly sentimental - and you’re swallowing it down like it is your last bit of oxygen. You feel _giddy_ and grateful and obnoxiously obsessed with him and you want him to know that so as soon as he sits up, you swing your forearm over your eyes and demand: “Put your helmet on and get on your back.”

“Uh..okay.”

Despite the number of times you’ve fucked him, Din continues to be awkward when it comes to you giving him pleasure. It’s like he still doesn’t believe he deserves it - like any act that is meant primarily for his gratification is unnecessary - _unimportant_.

You climb onto him - straddling his legs and when you press your tongue to the slit at the head of his cock, he goes _tight_ \- the unsettled growl from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Can I?” He smooths his palm over your scalp - ghosting over the strands of your hai - uncertain. “Is it okay?”

You release his cock with a pop - desire for him slicking your mouth. “Din,” you gasp. “Do it. Control me. Show me how you want _it._ ”

He chokes _at that_ before fisting your hair - bringing you down on him - making his dick hit the back of your throat. Blood roars in your ears as you listen to him groan for you. He handles you with rough severeness and you _fucking_ love it. The both of you weren’t made for kindness - weren’t made for velvet-sweet kisses and tender grip.

“ _Stars_ ,” he snarls. “You take my cock so well, _pretty_. Take it so deep - _shit_ \- I can’t - can’t even think sometimes. It’s just - it’s fucking you - always - everywhere - just - just wanting to fuck you every hour of the day and - and-d - _fuck oh yeah shit like that_ \- sweet, _sweet_ , little thing.”

You suction your mouth - tongue dragging up the back of his substantial length. You know when he’s about to burst - the bloom of salt at the head, the way his cock thickens and inflates and his muscles shiver beneath your touch and _still_ you keep it going. You’re gagging on it now - frenzied, filthy wet straining as you try and take it as far as you can and there’s so much spit webbed between his cock and your lips and your palm scraping across his balls as he jerks into the heat of your mouth.

The sex between you is _genuine_ \- that’s a guarantee - it’s filled with the kind of passion that is laced with _desperate_ intimacy. It’s brutal in its way - shoving, tangling, crying out, bruising until you are both left shaking - struggling for breath - clawing at the other with your skin on inside out.

“Gonna - mm’gonna ngh come, fuck,” His hips are stuttering against your face - your cheeks are aching as you stretch your jaw for him - the sun is burning your back - streaking it in heat. You manage to hum a sort of gurgling, needy affirmation before you feel his balls draw up tight - the muscles of his stomach going to stone beneath your nails and then he’s filling your mouth - the salty tepid burst of his come that you swallow immediately.

When he sits up, he draws his thumb over your lip - pressing at it - touching whatever you missed before you wrap your tongue around his fingers. He trembles. You lean into his touch, responsive to anything and everything he gives you.

“You’re...you’re _really something_.”

He doesn’t say it like it’s meant to be dirty praise. It’s not a filthy tease or packed with lewd innuendo. He has nothing in his voice but a sort of genuine, incredulous awe.

It...it feels close to _lo_ -

* * *

Your skin is itchy - flecked in drying lotion. You twist onto your stomach to find Mando staring at you from beneath the shadowed overhang of a palm. He still has his helmet, but the rest of him is in his casual gear - cotton undershirt and pants and bare feet thrust into the sand.

You wonder if you should offer to go inside and sit with the child - allow him some time to enjoy the beach without the prison of his helmet - let him taste the ache of the sun.

“What are you looking at?” you call. You’re tender - there’s sand in areas there shouldn’t be despite the fact that you dunked yourself into the ocean after the second round of _how many orgasms can I give you in under five minutes_.

“What do you think?” he deadpans - his hand tentatively resting over the place between his legs. _He couldn’t possibly be? No, that defies the laws of nature_. _You’d sucked him dry_.

“You...you’re not hard again are you?”

“I can’t help it - not when you’re wearing that.”

They’d had a swimsuit store at the main resort and you’d grabbed a two-piece. It’s nothing devastatingly skimpy. It’s red and white; it holds you together in a flattering way.

“It’s a bikini, Din. You’ve seen me ass-naked like six-hundred times. I was literally bottomless with your tongue in me not fifteen-minute ago.”

“I know,” he remarks tightly.

You laugh - bright and loud - before you wiggle onto your back - arching just enough that he can see the curves of your cleavage. The brief jiggle of your breasts.

He audibly groans. “You’re killing me.”

You stretch your leg up - massaging more sunscreen into your ankle - the flesh of your calf muscle. You relax into the towel - smoothing your hands over your breasts. The lotion smells of fruit - of melon and icy, tropical drinks. 

The sky goes dark - a shadowy cloud of Beskar - you open your eyes to see Din looming over you. “You’re asking for it.”

“Din,” you stress. “We literally just _fucked_.”

He drops down next to you - his body creaking as he hits the hot sand. “Can’t keep up, then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “ _You’re_ the old one.”

His helmet swings toward you - his tone alarmingly chilly. “What’d you just say?”

_Oh. Fuck._

You try to scoot back, but he’s already grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Your hands scramble in the sand - searching for purchase as Din yanks your bottoms down to your knees.

“Old, huh?” he grits out as the familiar, rock-hard swell of his cock is pressed up against your ass.

He slides his helmet along your cheek - his broad chest heaving against your shoulders. “Yeah,” you whine. “meant... _experienced_ and fucking hot and - and so so good at fucking me.”

He makes a _tsk_ sound - faux disappointment flaring with each of his movements. He’s using the muscle of his thigh to peel your legs apart - to open you up for him despite your bikini catching you - binding you together.

“No,” he growls. “You’re not getting out of this.”

Your nipples are pebbling against the molten sand - the granules scraping the tender, sensitive flesh. You can feel the air at your cunt - it’s pulsing, aching, _waiting_ for him. He’s _torturing_ you - rubbing the head of his cock against your sex - smearing it between your folds as it catches on your clit.

“Din,” you whine. “Shit - _please_.”

It is a wonder to you - an absolute _wonder_ \- how he manages to exhaust you completely and then get you to _die_ for him - to plead for him to fuck you again in a matter of minutes.

“Then beg this old man to fuck you,” he drawls. “Beg him to fucking pound you into the hard ground, pretty, _pretty_ girl.”

“Ugh,” You push yourself up onto your elbows before he’s shoving you back down. You groan. “Fine. Please. Please. _Please_.”

“You can do better than that,” He slides the ridge of his dick between the cheeks of your ass - hips grinding you down to flat while you lurch against him. _This is criminal - this is flat-out illegal_.

“Baby wants to get fucked, huh? Wants to come all over my cock?”

It’s disturbingly _sexy_ the way the modulator makes his voice _cold_ and _reserved_ \- as if he could be discussing Outer Rim regulations and not threatening you with filthy acts.

“Yes, Din,” you finally wheeze out. He’s so damn heavy. “Fuck - _yes_. I want you to fuck me - I need you to fuck me right now or I’ll - I’ll cry.”

You mean it - you could drum up the tears if he wanted to play dirty.

He snarls before he grips your shoulder to anchor himself and then spears you down onto his swollen cock - stretching you out as you keen into the grit-crusted towel. You’re so fucking _drenched_ \- still dripping from your earlier orgasm. You shut your eyes - bite your bottom lip until you nearly taste blood. His thrusts are stealing your oxygen - punching your breath from your lungs with every cant of his hips. Your belly clenches up - rolling, electrifying stings of pleasure whipping at your core as you spasm around him - as he threads his fingers through yours and slams your hands into the sand - as the weight of his balls slap your cunt and he _locks_ you in between his legs - caging you with the enormous wall of his body.

* * *

Half an hour later - you’re staring up at the reddening sky - the branching hand of violet spiraling through the amber clouds.

“We should wake the kid,” you murmur as Din’s helmet slides down your chest - his arms wrapped snugly around you. “Show him the sunset.”

“Yeah,” he says - still struggling for breath. You can feel his heart hammering against your thigh. “Good idea.”

“You need a minute?”

“Ha ha.” He sits up - carefully tucking himself back into his pants. “Before you get him - I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“You want to try anal?”

His helmet swings around.

“What? No!” he replies - startled. He coughs before his tone ripples to something heated. “But - uh - we can talk about _that_ later.”

You giggle despite yourself as you wiggle your bottoms back up your legs. “Okay - so what is it?”

He draws his legs to his chest - one long, thick arm hanging over his knee. “Just - just so you know that the option is there,” he pauses before he drops his hand down to your ankle and squeezes. “If you want to talk about what happened to you - if you want to say anything at all, you can. You don’t need to give me a name - _hey_ I know that face - it’s not like that. I’m not trying to trick you into giving me any information that you don’t want to give me. I'm just offering my ear - that's it.”

You relax and nod - _okay_.

“If you feel like talking - “

“No.”

He raises his palms in surrender. “Alright.”

* * *

They fuck a ridiculous amount of times despite the fact that they have the kid scrambling around in the sand or in the folds of their fluffy white duvet or squeaking about wanting to play in the bath every other hour.

They manage to do it as soon as he's asleep or locked in a high chair where he can eat and watch the plasma screen that has unfamiliar neon-colored cartoons. The volume is at the maximum level for _reasons_.

It’s _bliss_. It’s _so_ fucking domestic. It’s verging on _cute_.

“Too many surfaces,” he tuts as he thrusts inside your sore, overly filled cunt. You’re hanging about half your body over the railing of the terrace - your breasts uncomfortably smashed into iron as Din fucks you from behind. “I’m doing you on all of them before this trip ends.”

 _Twist my arm_.

He leaves his spendinside you - falling to his knees after grinding it all up into your pussy - watching it spill from you as he runs the tips of his fingers through your abused folds - pressing the slick of both of your come so far up it makes you whimper.

“Keep it in,” he commands - tracing your fluttering hole. “I’m dead serious, pretty girl, keep me in there and I’ll treat you so good - later - all night - whatever you want.”

You really want to reply - _wasn’t that going to be the damn plan anyway -_ but you figure he’s on one. His sex drive has been dialed up to a hundred and twenty-two. You honestly wonder what he did before you - how did he literally get off since now he wants to fuck almost every single day.

Then you stop yourself because if you think too much about it, you tend to get insanely jealous over any imaginary past lovers he had which leads to you jumping on Din and _riding_ him to prove something. _That’ll show them._

_Whoever "them" is._

You know that if you told him, he'd chastise you - give you that _Mando_ stare - his modulated voice rubbed in disbelief 

_"There's no one else. There never was. Anyone before you? They were nothing."_

* * *

Din fucks you over the kitchen counter. He fucks you against the fridge so hard that your spine leaves abstract shapes of sweat. He ruts into you on the tile floor of the bathroom until it scrapes the skin of your knees. In the shower, you have to keep your eyes sealed shut as water floods your mouth and he lifts you against the wall. They do it in the actual bed maybe a grand total of four times before he’s chasing you to the shoreline to fuck you on wet sand - in the shallow parts of the ocean beneath the heavy yellow glow of molten _Almas_ as it hangs in the atmosphere. You wrap your arms around his damp neck where _still_ his helmet sits - your fingers tracing slick lines along the Beskar as he tries to kiss you with what he can show you.

His skin is soft - his muscles gleaming in the quiet, cool night. His hand is caught up in your hair as he continues to pull you down on the thick, hot rod of his perfectly gorgeous cock. You lean back so that you can see his bare chest - the fine, dark hair curling at his breast - the lines of his stomach muscles until the rest of him disappears beneath the lapping water. You doubt _this_ is allowed by the Creed. You’re certain he’s playing fast and loose with the rules at this point. He hasn’t _removed_ his helmet - you haven’t seen his face - but he’s giving you _nearly_ all of him.

And what would it be like to see his face? To see his eyes - his smile - his handsomeness golden and bright. To hold his gaze as you kissed him - as you held tight to the firm lines of his cheekbones with the curl of your thumb. _Oh_ to be able to stare up at him as he fucked you - to _truly_ see his expression shift as he first entered you - as he rocked inside you before climaxing.

It would only be a gift if he was _willing_.

“You’re beautiful,” you sigh - trailing a finger down the line of his throat - feeling him swallow as the length of him pulses inside you.

He ducks his helmet down - a blush subtly spreading across his chest. _That nearly makes you cry out_.

“It’s true,” you whisper - cradling the rim of the Beskar - pulling forward so you can crush your breasts to him. “Gorgeous.” You press a kiss to his throat. “Deadly.” Another to his shoulder - briny with seawater. “Kind.”

He _hmpfs_ \- his fingers digging into your soft ass. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t know what?”

“What I look like,” he points out. “And I’m not very nice.”

“Yes - I do,” you retort - not unkindly. “I can feel your face.”

Your body is weightless - drifting except for the delicious, anchoring ridge of his cock. The stars slip over his helmet with rosy light - droplets of water glinting across its surface.

“As for the nice thing - you _are_ a sweetheart,” He snorts, before snapping his hips up - punching a whine out of your throat. “ _Maker_ \- you fuck me so deep.”

“Mmm-not nice.” The edge of his helmet is cutting into your shoulder and you don’t care - the pain is muted - far away as all of your senses fixate on _Din_ being inside you.

Again - he’s trying to change the subject - distract you - guide you away from your praise towards him.

“You’re nice - you deny it - _oh fuck me fuck that feels perfect_ \- but you do - you’re - _you’re_ \- always willing to help-p - _oh Din_ \- literally anyone - you - you are - _shit_ \- you are such a good man.”

He slows his thrusts before encircling his arms around your waist - bringing you as close to him as humanly possible. His fingertips scrape across your lower back - his breathing echoes the weighted roll of the waves. “I-I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he finally mutters.

* * *

It’s perfectly dark - the kind of thick blackness that makes you feel safe - that makes Din feel _safe_. His body slumps over yours before he eases out of your cunt. His hand is trembling as he combs your hair back - his lips warm and wet at your temple - dragging over your cheek.

“Fuck,” he husks out. “Fuck. That was - _yeah_ \- “ He rolls over onto his side - his strong hand still on you - still pressed into your skin to make sure you’re there - you’re with him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Ngh,” you reply - your muscles are strained - the place between your thighs is literally on fire - and it’s a _good_ burn - the best fucking kind of _burn_ \- and _oh you love to burn for him_ , but you are genuinely drained.

He sighs - his palm scraping down your back before coming to rest on your ass. He squeezes a handful - massaging the flesh there. It’s bruised - you absolutely know it. He’d slapped it at least a dozen times in the last hour.

“I gotta go deal with this bounty,” he finally groans. You rise up on your elbows. _No._

“Why?” It comes out high-pitched and you really don’t mean to sound that.. _pathetic_ , but you don’t want him to leave you - not when things are like this - when things are so damn pleasant and the burdens you both carry are back on the ship.

He makes a soft, comforting sound before he wraps an arm around your waist to yank you against him. He brushes your hair off your forehead - stroking your cheek.

“Because I said I would and it won’t take long,” he twists - shoving the great, molten engine of his sweat-damp body against yours. It’s _so much_ in the embrace of the dark - when he is nothing but sensations and pressure. “You stay with the kid - hang out - I’ll be back by nightfall.” He kisses you softly - his tongue slipping between your teeth before he presses his forehead to yours. He tastes like salt - like the slick of your sex from where he’d had his tongue buried for hours - he tastes like _you_ and it makes pleasure flare in your belly. “I want you to sleep. I’ve...I know I’ve kept you up the last few days - “

“I was not complaining,” you murmur as he gently grips your jaw to hold your mouth open beneath his.

“I just - _fuck_ I really cannot control myself around you,” He sounds confounded. “I wanted to just be with you - every minute of this trip.” You can feel his grin against your cheek - the smooth slip of his teeth. “Wanted to fuck you in an actual bed - into a mattress.”

“We did a lot more than that,” You twine your fingers through his.

“We did.”

“You aren’t gonna sleep?”

“I don’t require much. You know that.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you admit quietly as you tuck your nose under his chin - his facial hair tickling your forehead. “Is that bad? I feel like that’s bad.”

“Why would that be bad?”

“Because it means - it means I _need_ you. I feel sad without you - I feel sick almost.”

He shifts beneath your cheek - his heart pumping rhythmically. A flutter of great wings. He doesn’t say _anything_. He just clears his throat - tightens his grip on your shoulder.

“It’s stupid,” you quickly add.

 _Defensive_. You did not mean to reveal all of that - your emotions - your true feelings for him spiraling out of your grip and into his lap. You were giving him too much - you _must_ be - because you can feel him tensing - his jaw twitching as he swallows something hard.

“It’s not stupid,” he eventually tells you before climbing out of bed to get his armor. “Now sleep, darling girl.”

* * *

You prepare for a day at the beach. You and the kid and _nothing_ \- just a free fucking day where they literally can do whatever they want. He’s more than talkative - warbling and brightly remarking about what you assume means how fantastic the house is and that maybe they should move here permanently and live like an actual family unit.

You gather a red-striped umbrella and a beach chair, a plastic pail and shovel, towels, and bags of snacks.

The sand is so warm - comforting, soft. The baby toddles toward the shore - giggling as he splashes in the foam. It’s a calm surf - gentle, lapping waves darkening the bottom of his brown cloak.

“C’mere,” you call to the kid and he immediately zooms back to you. He babbles as he points his tiny claw to the sea before pointing it back to you.

“Fascinating,” you smile. “Now - look at this.”

You dip your hand into the sodden sand before raising it high and dripping it into a crooked tower. You make variously-shaped castles and the child watches - amazed - his eyes following your movements.

He squeaks before bursting into more nonsense and smashing one of the melting towers with a jerk of his arm. You laugh before handing him the pail and shovel so he can dig for the pale pink crabs that skitter along the beach. He eats four of them, which you’re pretty sure is _okay_.

“It’s protein,” you tell him as he narrows his eyes in clear understanding.

The sun is strong overhead and after a couple of hours, you corral him beneath the umbrella’s shade.

Your lids feel heavy and when the baby climbs up into your lap, you stroke his wrinkled head.

“Should we nap?” you ask. He mutters incoherently before snuffling his face into your stomach and passing out completely. _Nice_.

You wonder if it’s safe - if it would be _okay_ to sleep here unguarded. _It’s probably fine_.

Din specifically picked an island isolated from everything else. _Stars_ you highly _highly_ doubt Din would have fucked you without his helmet if he was ever worried that someone would stumble upon them.

You blink - the sun really is _brutal_ today - mixed with the echoing spray-gasp of the waves - the lulling chimes of the lulari trees tinkling in the breeze - the scent of honey and blossoms... _you could just close your eyes for a moment_.

* * *

You shoot up. _Fuck_. _How long were you out?_

The baby is still tucked against you - his claws threaded through your hair. You feel strange - feel weird - there is something off in your stomach. Your instincts are screaming - ringing in your ears. You know when you’re being watched.

You scan the area - _nothing_. You look back at the jungle - the verdant leaves shimmering in the afternoon - the wild, vibrating call of birds. _Nothing_. You turn back to the beach - the slithering line of the coast - there’s noth- _oh_

Someone is down the beach - someone walking towards you and it’s not Din - you’re sure of it. You know Din’s gait better than anyone and _whoever_ that is is not him.

You taste sour as the dark shape looms closer. It has a stiff, angular walk. Tall and broad. You shake your head - the overwhelming wet-heat turning to vapor. The baby coos at your feet - his fingers plucking the sand from your toes.

Closer. Closer. A shadow - a smudge on the high-gloss finish of _their_ paradise.

You reach down and pull the baby into your arms. You step back and close your eyes. Count to ten. You open them. _Still there_. You think of Din - think of anything. Your weapons are in the house - your blaster-proof vest. Your eyes are burning from sunscreen - you’re dehydrated and completely off your game.

Closer still.

_Oh - this is bad._

“Hey!” You jump - the baby bouncing against your chest before you secure your grip.

Din appears out of the trees - unmarked - perfectly fine. You swing around to look back at the shore and...there is only emptiness. No one in sight.

He steps in front of you - his gloved hand gripping your jaw and gently tilting it up.

“How’s my best girl?”

You fix your expression- pinning a smile to your face as you gaze up at him. You are a mess inside: puzzled and nervous. Mostly irritated at the fact that your fears have begun to manifest into actual delusions. You are seeing things that simply aren’t there.

“I’m the only girl,” you finally murmur, but it comes out stilted - and Din pauses - the leather of his glove stiffening under your chin.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” you reply - drawing a finger down his armor -catching on dried blood from whatever poor guy is now cooling somewhere. You bury that _strange_ moment from before. “Just dehydrated I think. We’ve been out here for hours.”

He visibly relaxes before pulling a bloom off a Lulari tee. He tucks it behind your ear - the silk kissing your temple.

“Where’s the bounty?”

“Ship,” he replies - pinching the cheek of the child before catching your hand in his. “Wanna go lie down?”

You nod - offering him another half-hearted grin. You shove at it - _force_ it - and you can feel Din’s grip tighten.

 _He doesn’t believe you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are so so appreciated. They give me so much motivation and I love hearing your thoughts. Apologies that this chapter was literally...all porn.
> 
> https://charnelhouse.tumblr.com/
> 
> (I literallllly just made a tumblr so plz stop by to chat. I need more friends)


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